]]>Is Donald Trump affecting your ability to hump? Salon.com interviewed Dr. Suzy on Post Trump Sex Disorder and some of the effects of Trump’s presidency on the State of the Union’s sexual health. Read the full Q & A here.

And Lupercalia is what we celebrate here at the little Love Church of the Bonobo Way in Bonoboville with a heartfelt feast for all the senses, including your sense of history.

Bonobo Pan

With that in mind, I channel the Spirit of Pan, the great, horned, horny goat—the Roman Faunus, Lupercus the shepherd god, the primeval Greco-Roman God of the Wild.

I channel the Spirit of Pan, Lord of Lupercalia. Photo: Selfie

I’ve loved Pan since I was a little girl ogling my big picture book of Greco-Roman mythology which was so much more engaging than the Judeo-Christian Bible, which I also read cover-to-cover, both Old and New Testaments.

Pan or Faunus/Lupercus, God of the Wild,. He loves to play, known for playing seductively on his “Pan Pipes.”

I thought Pan was particularly cool because Pan likes to play, and I liked to play.

Dreaming of Pan. Photo: Alen Red

The “God” of the Hebrews, Christians and Muslims is a “wrathful” god, occasionally a “loving” god, but never a playful god… well, except when He shows Moses His divine heart-shaped ass. That’s actually a rather Lupercalian moment, and would have been more so if Moses would have swung a leather strap across the sky like he was flogging it, but alas, none of the Biblical translations say that he did.

Much later, I learned that some of Pan’s “play” involved bestiality, which I found pretty gross, personally having no desire to have sex with any of my pet cats or parakeets, my neighbors’ dogs or even Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I was fascinated. Greco-Roman mythology is filled with stories of humans mating with gods who take the form of bulls, horses, swans and other non-human animals. And then there were all those lonely real-life goatherds and shepherds making Valentines out of their goats and sheep. We now deplore this “animal abuse,” as we should, but the abuse of non-human animals in our modern agricultural system is far worse, not to mention immensely destructive to our eco-system, and one of the chief drivers of calamitous climate change.

Pan teaches a wood nymph to play on his pipes.

No doubt, Pan is a bit of a “bad boy,” but he’s the God of the Wild and the original Ecosexual, loving the Earth he makes love on.

Pan is also the patron saint of the bonobos, as their Latin classification is Pan Paniscus. Now that Valentine’s Day has been declared World Bonobo Day, it’s as if Pan is being honored again for his divine “sponsorship” of the peace-through-pleasure loving bonobos via the ancient holiday of the heart that was “his” from the beginning.

Not being very bonoboësque, the early Church banned the people’s worship of Pan, Faunus and Lupercus. and, over time, they turned playful Pan into the Devil. The Demonization of Pan was quite intense. Sure, Pan was no Catholic priest (though some of those Catholic priests are much worse than Pan). He could be beastly and probably would have had the #MeToo movement after him, but to control people and our “nature,” the Church turned the half-man/half-goat god into the lowest of the low, the worst of the worst.

Gathered around is a convivial group of sexy women and a few good men that come in and out, as invited… or not.

Gathering in the Cave-Like Womb Room transformed into the Womb-Like Cave of the Lupercal. Photo 2G

They’re pretty much all 2018 SUZY award winners of all talents, shapes, apes and sizes.

Passing Around The SUZY. Photo: Jux Lii

Though everybody gets an “I WON A SUZY” button, we pass around the award, like it’s a sacred object, a petite “Oscar” sporting wings and a Glyde vegan condom hat its head.

PHOTOS 1 & 4: 2 PHOTOGRAPHY. PHOTOS 2 & 3: JUX LII

Blossom, sporting a glittering red heart and matching kitty ears for the holiday, even puts the SUZY on her head!

Blossom Kitty balances a SUZY award on her head between her kitty ears as Goddess Phoenix shows off her “Goddess Experience” toga/robe that she designed herself, and I congratulate tonight’s bevy of 2018 SUZY winners. Photo: Frank H

At first, I wonder if I’ll have to spank her for dropping it (which would be appropriate for Lupercalia), but she balances her SUZY perfectly like a Russian gymnast. Svetlana Khorkina, watch out!

Rhiannon Aarons is the Luper of Lupercalia

Lupercalia is so-named for the “Luper.” If you don’t know a “luper” from a “leper,” the former is Latin for “She-Wolf.” Our Luper is played in fine “furry” fashion by 2018 SUZY award winner for “Most Well-Rounded Kinkster” and “Best Stormy Daniels” impersonator, Rhiannon Aarons.

Just to remind us of how well-rounded she is, before we get our ancient tale (and tails!) off and running with the Lupercii, Rhiannon tell us about Spider, a new film she is starring in and producing.

PHOTOS 1-4: JUX LII. PHOTO 5: ALEN RED

Her co-star is none other than our old pal Ron Jeremy, who actually played Romulus in our uber-orgiastic Lupercalia Bacchanalia 2015 while all eight of our sex goddesses were the she-wolves, whose perky teats he most joyously and consensually suckled. Actually I don’t think I got through telling most of the Lupercalia story that show because Ron was so noisy about trying to fuck all eight of my female guests, and actually succeeded in getting MileyCyrus porn lookalikeMiley May and Loni Legend to suckle his schmeckle. They seemed pretty happy about the thing at the time, and I truly hope they’re not traumatized at a later date.

Then in 2016, right on Valentine’s Eve, he asked me what I was up to, and I invited him to join the Bonoboville crew for Valentine Eve dinner in his capacity as Mayor of Bonoboville at the Waterfront Café on Venice Beach.

Ron can be outrageous, and he’s been under a lot of heat with the #MeToo movement. I’m not saying their stories are right or wrong. They are their stories and their truths. Ron can be pretty pushy for sexual interaction, like Pan the horny old goat, but from what I’ve experienced and eye-witnessed over the course of 30 years, he’s always taken “no” for an answer. Fortunately, I’m not so famous that my defense of his character has brought me more than a small amount of hate mail (more about large amounts of hate mail further down).

Spider Star Rhiannon Aarons and Writer Dana Hammer. Photo: Jux Lii

Let’s not get too distracted by the Hedgehog and his scandals! Dana Hammer, the Spider writer, looks about as scandal-less (as opposed to scandalous) as a Vestal Virgin (speaking of virgins, check out my 10 Commandments of Virgin Sex, if you actually are one). But the prissy-looking ones are often the ones with the wicked imaginations. A small part of this exciting little cinematic ecapade will be shot in Bonoboville! Check out the Spider GoFundMe, and do as both Ron and Dana say: Give them money, honey.

She God Claire & Bratty Wolfie are Romulus & Remus

Two more stars of our Lupercalia Story are the twin brothers, Romulus and Remus, the founders of the great city of Rome, played by “Best Humiliatrix” 2018 SUZY award winner She God Claire and “Best Submissive”2018 SUZY award winner Bratty Wolfie (another wolf!).

Hey, boys played girls onstage in Shakespeare’s day, and girls play boys in ours. These two cuties look kind of like sisters, so why not make the famous twin brothers who are said to have founded the great city of Rome? Yes, it’s a “myth,” but less farfetched immaculate conception or Moses parting the Red Sea with nothing but his rod.

In the Lupercalia story, Romulus and Remus start out as newborn infants, the divine sons of Mars (Ares to the Greeks) the god of war. I’m a Make-Love-Not-War kind of gal, but what can I say, it’s part of the story… of human civilization. And Mars is very much a patron of the warrior culture of ancient Rome.

Holy Mother & Divine Twins. Photo: Jux Lii

As for the twins’ half-divine, half-human mother, she is Queen Rhea Silvia, the daughter of King Numitor of Alba Longa who has been dethroned by his Uncle Amulius. The Queen is also a direct descendant of Aeneas, one of the few Trojan heroes not killed or enslaved by the Greeks, and Venus, the Goddess of Love, Sex and Beauty.

Goddess Phoenix is Queen Rhea Silvia

And who better to embody the divine Queen Rhea Silvia than the luminous Goddess Phoenix, two-time winner of the “Most Dazzling Domme” SUZY award, as well as the “Best Gift award for giving me one of her signature fiber-optic floggers. It’s such a pleasure to mingle our dazzling neon “modern Lupercalian” whips together in the Womb Room for Lupercalia—feels kind of like a fiber-optic reunion!

In addition to her SUZYs, Goddess Phoenix won a women’s fitness competition in the “over 50” category. She’s always dazzling, but in her role as Queen Rhea Silvia, descendant of Venus herself, she looks like… well, Venus herself.

PHOTOS 2 & 4: JUX LII. PHOTOS 2&3: 2G

Wearing a flowing diaphanous white gown that’s a cross between a Roman toga and Striperella‘s cape, she looks like she’s floating. If you’ve had half a Jux LiiCannabelly cookie (like me half-way through the show), she looks like she’s flying in for the night and will soon be winging it back home to cavort and canoodle with the other gods on Mount Olympus.

When I ask her who the designer was, she replies, “I designed it Myself and had it made. It’s a part of my new ‘Goddess Experience’ that I teach on the lifestyle all-adult cruises. It’s the all-Olympian Goddess look.”

Like most pro-dominatrices, Goddess Phoenix looks powerful in leather and latex; I’ve seen her in both at various DomCons. But lately, she’s been wearing softer, more comfortable fabrics, off and on. She looks just as powerful as ever, maybe more than ever, because she breaks through with her message of glamorous Amazon (no, not Jeff Bezos’ Amazon; Wonder Woman’s Amazon), aka “glamazon” female power to folks who might be into leather. I love leather, but I haven’t worn it much lately, partly because it’s expensive and, well, animal rights, anyone? As for latex, I it looks so shiny and sexy, but it’s not exactly easy-to-wear nor to have sex in.

You can easily imagine Goddess Phoenix, descendent of Venus, having sex with the great god Mars in this light, white diaphanous toga-gown, then falling asleep in his arms and waking up in it to greet the dawn on her balcony in ancient Alba Longa, Italy… and then whipping Mars’ muscular, heart-shaped ass.

FemDom Venus dominates Mars in a Bonobo Way in this famous Botticelli painting.

With 25 years of experience dominating willing subjects, Goddess Phoenix will teach “the next generation” of dominatrices and doms how to practice the arts of BDSM and fetish, including “The Goddess Experience,” in the about-to-open “Dom School,” which she created with our mutual friend, headmistress of DomCon and Sanctuary, Mistress Cyan.

Innocently playing with their Divine Mom by the Tiber, the kids don’t unterstand what those Evil Hands have up their sleeves. Photo: 2G

Since he’d forced her to be a Vestal Virgin when he stole her father King Numitor’s throne, this greatly angers their evil great uncle Amulius. So he tears the twins from her arms and has them tossed into the Tiber River.

Capt’n Max, in the role of mean old King Amulius, tosses the infant terrorists into the Tiber River where he expects them to drown. Photo: Jux Lii

Tossing newborns into rivers, abandoning them on mountaintops–these were popular methods of infanticide that many politically-minded tyrants utilized back then with “undesirable” infants, rather than outright executing them and possibly incurring the perpetual wrath of important gods.

Harsh treatment? You bet, though not lot harsher than our current Tyrant-in-Chief putting migrant children in cages, which kills some of them out of neglect and bitter conditions, while others are *just* physically and mentally traumatized.

Blue tsunami in the Speakeasy! Photo: Frank H

The part of bad old King Aumulias who commits this heinous crime has been expands in this Commedia Erotica Lupercalia production, so it requires two actors to fill the role, the first being Capt’n Max, who enjoys playing heinous criminals with a little humor and humanity, and also he was born in Rome. He even delivers his soliloquy in Italian, as the mean old bastard mimes taking the helpless infants from Queen Rhea Silvia and tossing them into the Tiber.

They wave this piece of blue material up and down as Romulus and Remus mime drowning and trying to swim. It’s like a very low-budget school play with FemDoms and subbies, artists and exhibitionists, voyeurs and connoisseurs. The dramatic free-for-Facebook music Abe plays sounds very theatrical, a little corny, but really engaging us in the “Tiber River Experience.”

Rescued by the Luper & Suckled in the Lupercal Cave

So it flows until Romulus and Remus are miraculously rescued by Rhiannon, the sacred She-Wolf heroine, who pulls them out of the river and “suckles” them in that cave they call the Lupercal.

The Luper spies the Twins in the Tiber. Photo: Jux Lii

Interestingly, the word “lupa” is Latin slang for “prostitute.” This explains a lot, especially all the suckling.

It’s actually not as far-fetched as the Christian concept of immaculate conception. Some children have indeed been raised by wolves. Some of these wolves are probably more nurturing than human parents. After all, wolves are close to dogs, “man’s best friend,” except they’re wild and know how to live in the wild.

Let the Suckling Begin! Let the Luper Nurse the Future People of Rome. Photo: Jux Lii

So our lovely Luper/Lupa now opens her furry coat to reveal her fabulous natural tits, aka teats that suckle our heroes into heroism. When she stands up straight, she looks like some kind of Native American goddess temple totem pole. When she leans over, her large teat flopping naturally, like any natural mother, the Luper.

Wolf Milk must be good. Photo: 2G

Romulus and Remus, with more oral passion than passionate oratory, tune into the primal spirit of the She-Wolf, the classical Cougar, the “Sacred Whore” of the original Valentine’s Day, the Great Wolf-MILF of ancient Rome.

The Luper (She-Wolf) suckles Romulus and Remus, the twin founders of Rome.

Take that literally, and we’re back to those Tuscan shepherds getting their calcium straight from the teat.

The Luper suckles the Founders of Rome as the Trumps sucks his thumb. Photo: Alen Red

But it’s also about other kinds of nurturing only Mother Nature provides that can save our lives.

Romulus and Remus grow up strong, maybe a little crazy and very in touch with their animal nature from nursing on all that wolf milk.

asPHOTOS 1 & 2: JUX LII. PHOTOS 3 & 4: 2G

As they get older, they hear the story of their evil Great Uncle Amulius, and they are tormented by flashbacks replaying that awful ,oment when he tears them screaming from their true mother’s arms, then locks her up and tosses them into the treacherous Tiber to die.

Maybe a passing traveler tells them what’s really going on, or maybe they can speak “wolf” now and they hear it straight from the Luper’s mouth. In any case being Sons of Mars and Queen Rhea Silvia, they can’t help but have Wet Dreams about violent revenge.

In the warm furry arms of the Luper, Romulus and Remes start to dream of taking revenge on the Tyrant. Little do they know, their Divine Mother is already punishing him for his sins. Photo Jux Lii

The dreams virtually ejaculate the twins from the dark, primeval cave for Alba Longa where they break into Amulius’ palace and murder him. Apparently, nobody stops them or does anything about it, probably because they all secretly hated the old tyrant.

Of course, we don’t actually “kill” any of our Commedia Erotica players; we flog, spank or whip them with the Jux Leather “februa” (from which we get our name for the month of “February,” showing how much clout Lupercalia had back in the day) them instead, which is totally appropriate to Lupercalia, the festival of flogging.

Lypercalian Reunions. Photo 2G

For this particular execution, our victorious “feral” twins chose a paddle, but not just any paddle. King Amulius, now played by Tim Sewall, 2018 SUZY award winner for “Best Baby Trump,” appropriately wearing the Trump mask to connect this Tale of Two Tyrants, one in Alba Longa and the other in the White House. He’s also wearing a black T Shirt showing Trump on Nancy Pelosi’s leash that says “Trump is my bitch.” Then there’s the “Big Man Size” Pelosi paddle, which is what the twins use to carry out their murderous vengeance upon the evil old man.

Lupercalian Mother & Children Reunion. Photo: 2G

Then they return the kingdom of Alba Longa to their Granddad Numitor, and give their mom, Queen Rhea Silvia, a big beautiful hug.

It’s been years (I’m figuring 15) since they’ve seen each other. They also give her the Pelosi paddle to whack the tyrant (or would-be tyrant, since Trump can’t get enough done to be an actual tyrant).

The triumphant Family stands upon their vanquished enemy. Is this the origins of the Cosa Notra? Photo: Frank H

Like typical teenagers raised by wolves, Romulus and Remus get out of town and go on to create a whole new city. And they did just pay (or not pay) their workers while they vacationed on the Riviera (kind of like Mar-A-Lago, but a lot less tacky); they built this city themselves side by side with their workers.

But alas, these boys are sons of Mars, not bonobos, so they quarrel about a fence—which is sometimes called a WALL, of all things (they didn’t have beautiful steel slats back then). Humpty Trumpty certainly isn’t the first arrogant dude to put up a wall to keep out the “invader” who’s actually your own brother.

Like Nancy Pelosi, Remus mocks the effectiveness of the Wall. And really, he’s right. Then, maybe because he knows his twin is right, in a Mars-like rage of sibling rivalry like the Judeo-Christian-Islamic Bible’s Cain killing his brother Able, Romulus kills his twin brother Remus.

Just as Cain killed Able in the Judeo-Christian-Islamic Bible, so Romulus kills his beloved brother Remus. Photo: Alen Red

Fratricide is a recurring theme among the ancients, both pagans and monotheists. Cain is presented as pretty damn evil, not to mention babyish, feeling sorry for himself for losing the favor of “God,” while (in typical Greco-Roman fashion), Romulus is portrayed with more nuance. Unlike Cain, Romulus loved Remus. This was not a deliberate murder like jealous Cain killing Able, but a terrible accident of rage—over that damn WALL. He is said to sincerely “regret” the killing of his beloved twin brother Remus.

The Ecstatic Resurrection of Remus as a Wolf. Photo: 2G

Not that it matters in Bonoboville where the fratricide is dramatized by Romulus whipping Remus with their own mother’s fiber-optic flogger, and then we get to experience the resurrection of Remus as a Wolf!

Meanwhile, back in the almost-built city, their fellow builders whisper and wonder if maybe Romulus’ much on-display “regret,” was just political posturing and crocodile tears. Whatever it was (if it even ever was)—kind of like Trump “forgetting” that February 14th was the one-year anniversary of the Valentine’s Day Massacre at Florida’s Marjory Stoneman high school—Romulus appears to forget his beloved twin.With great vigor and triumph, he builds the city of both twins’ dreams, which he names Rome, after himself, conveniently overlooking his twin brother.

Otherwise, Rome would be called “Reme.”

Cave of the Lupercal “Frat Boy” Gatherings

However, Remus isn’t completely gone, and now I’m not just talking about Bonoboville; I mean those seven sexy hills of earliest Rome, one of the world’s oldest major metropolitan areas that’s still got the cojones (not the briefs, the balls, and I would say the passion). Remus’ spirit lives on in a college fraternity, the Luperci Fabii, as does that of Romulus in the Luperci Quintilii.

We return from the break to give out more SUZYs and take Lupercalian mythology into Roman history. Photo: Alen Red

As time passes, these two fraternities, populated by young, noble, nearly naked, Roman college boys or “frat boys” get together to connect, make peace and have fun. I can relate because my alma mater (not just my panty logo), Yale, sometimes lets some students release that Lupercalian spirit). More on that my WYBC show.

Lupercii Yalie. Photo: Jux Lii

Every Ides of February, these college boys would meet within that dark, womb-like cave of the Lupercal where the She-Wolf/Whore (Luper/Lupa) once suckled, nurtured and loved their twin great-great-great-grandfathers.

In the ancient cave, the sexy young frat bros and their priestly leaders sacrificed a goat, played pretty hilariously by Sunshine McWanes, wearing flashing goatish devil horns on her head and my ancient fur coat (once worn by the artist Mario Saucedo’s beloved mother) over her shoulders. At first she’s in a pretty unsexy black shirt, but she sacrifices that to reveal her boobs, to the Womb Room’s applause.

Goat Sacrifice in the Womb Room. Photo: Frank H

The goat is to honor Pan, the horny old goat god.

No, not Betsey! Photo: Frank H

Some accounts they also sacrificed small dogs (maybe because they’re close to wolves)!

This disturbs me (I can’t help but think of Betsy), so I skip that part.

In any case, we don’t sacrifice anybody; we just whip them with our Februa. One goat isn’t quite enough for this hungry crew, so Kacy also becomes a sacrifice in the Lupercal Cave. This may turn off some anti-sex feminists and Puritans, but I like to imagine that all those horny rich college boys invited a Lupa (sex worker) or two to their private Lupercalian festivities, honoring them as Goddesses and paying them well for their services.

We also honor Pan by marking each other’s foreheads with the blood of the sacred beast.

Drawning the Sun on Sunshinethe Sacrificial Goat. Photo: 2G

In Bonoboville, we use red lipstick (provided by the fabulous Gypsy Bonobo) instead of goat’s blood (which would be a little messy), drawing Xs, hearts, stars and Scarlet Letters on foreheads uplifted to Olympus.

Simply divine and wild in the best ways, she requests three dots in a horizontal row, a symbol of her Apache Native American tribe. Unlike Elizabeth Warren, who I still like, despite those silly DNA test results, Goddess Phoenix is really part Apache and spent some of her childhood on a Apache reservation. It is such an honor to mark this great bonoboesque Apache/Roman queen with our sacred Lupercalian lipstick.

But unlike the Church, the Lupercalians never took themselves too seriously, and neither do we

We begin the Festival of Flogging in the Cave of the Lupercal. Photo: Jux Lii

They were more wary of human hubris, which the Trumpus constantly displays like McDonald’s features tasteless, unhealthy Big Macs to the tune of billions of dollars, euros, yen, pesos, rubles and every other currency, helping to destroy the environment and faithful customers’ bodies.

The Running of the Lupercii

Upon being marked on the forehead with goat’s red blood and white mill, the original Lupercalians laughed ritualistically. We laugh spontaneously; all that forehead-marking is pretty funny.

Wielding Our Februa in February. Photo: Jux Lii

Too bad our resurrected sacrificial goat, marked by sunshine, is MIA for this scene, but the rumor is that she took the Lupercalian drinking tradition a little too far for her delicate constitution, and passed out in the Green Room.

The original Lupercalians then feasted on fresh roasted goat and drank a lot of wine. Here in Bonoboville, we forego the goat meat, but we do a lot of flogging with februa, partying like pagans for Pan, Bacchus and Venus.

Ikkor the Wolf on Lupercalia 2019 in Bonoboville. Photo: Jux Lii

Even Jack Nice, now sporting a bushy beard that gives him that Jack-Kerouac-and-Alan-Ginsberg’s-Love-Child look and, as always, an endearing grin, gets down on his hands and knees for a few good swats from She God Claire, as Bonoboville’s Rapper-in-Residence Ikkor the Wolf sings “She Bad.”

With Ikkor, Bratty Wolfie and Rhiannon in her She-Wolf mask, it’s Wolf Night in Bonoboville. Aaoooooooohhh!

Ikkor the Wolf stirs up the Running of the Lupercii. Photo:

I’m sure the ancient Lupercii also had singers, rappers, thespians and musicians singing and playing as they ran through the countryside and into the towns, whipping everyone who held out their hands, buns or other body parts into a state of luck, love and horniness.

Tammie Parrott didn’t make it for Lupercalia 2019, but this Ono Bo pic of Tammie getting flogged for Lupercalia 2015 is featured in our new SPANK ‘n’ Art Speakeasy Journal on P.134-135.

The Romans called this event “The Running of the Luperci,” and they believed that such gentle, consensual whacks ensured fertility.

It’s not be as scientific as an IVF clinic, but it sure did whip the local populace up into a frenzy for sex, often creating a Roman baby boom around harvest time.

Julius Caesar & Lupercalia

Which brings me back to Marc Antony in one of Shakespeare’s most intriguing history plays, “Julius Caesar.” Antony was an avid Luperci, and he presented Caesar with a crown at the climax of the Lupercalia.

Julius Caesar turns down the crown that Marc Anthony presents to him at the Lupercalia… at first

Wisely, at first, Caesar turned it down. Finally, goaded by the jovial drunken mob, he accepted the crown as everyone cheered their approval. Well, not everyone.

Caesar is assassinated in an all-male gang-bang with no sex (though several of these men wished to have sex with Caesar) and buckets of blood which have never washed away.

The Senators of Rome—some of whom were his trusted friends (“Et tu, Brute?”), and none of whom were Lupercii—gang-murdered Julius Caesar in an orgy of blood on the Senate floor by the Ides of March.

Rebranding Lupercalia as SAINT Valentine’s Day

All that public whipping followed by rapturous orgies was a lot more erotic than a paper Valentine. It was a little too erotic for the early Catholic Church which violently squelched Lupercalian enthusiasm at the end of the 5th century by making the holiday illegal.

Whipping It Up for Lupercalia in 2016. Photo: B Natural

The also turned Pan/Faunus/Lupercus into the Devil, very effectively rebranding the horny old Lupercalian goat and all communal sacred sex as “Satanic.”

The elites of Rome approved the move; Lupercalian wildness had always frightened them. At first, the common people of Rome rebelled, but the rebels were killed or imprisoned as “Satanists”. Then the Church plunked the more saintly Valentine’s Day, based on a celibate priest they called Saint Valentine (who was less likely to exist than Romulus and Remus), a couple of days before the old Lupercalia, even appropriating the vivid color of goat’s blood smeared on human skin and milk as its signature shades: vivid Cardinal red and milky white.

The Roman people accepted this forced romance like rape victims trying to save their lives might appear to “accept” rape, Otherwise they’d be executed or imprisoned, tortured (nonconsensually) and then executed as Satanic heretics.

The Valentine Heart is a Well-Whipped Heart Shaped Ass

Despite the Church’s demolishment of Lupercalia, another symbol of Valentine’s Day seems to be Lupercalian in origin. That is, the classic Valentine “heart” looks nothing like the cardiac organ for which it appears to be named. It does, however, closely resemble a well-whipped set of buns. No wonder we call the perfect ass “heart-shaped.” Bratty Wolfie’s heat-shaped buns are an especially apt example, especially when they are whipped red by her Queenly Mother, flogging expert Goddess Phoenix.

The Church may have banned Lupercalia for centuries, sugar-coating its lusty history with the forced coupling of Valentine’s Day, but we are bringing it back from the annals of prehistoric Rome to the anals—and hot heart-shaped asses—of modern Bonoboville.

Trumpus Amulius holds out his tiny hands for the Luper/Lupa in Red to hit them with the Februa. Photo: Jux Lii

Meanwhile, Trump/Amulius reappears to hold out his tiny hands and lying ass that get whupped with a rainbow of februa and the Nancy Pelosi paddle. Always mixing FemDom politics and BDSM theater, we give a shout-out to Mistress Tara Indiana’s Dominatrixes against Trump (D.A.D) who have nurtured both Rhiannon and Tim politically, artistically and fetishistically, including our amazing Russian Hooker Pee Party, sharing their golden sprinkles on a different Trump.

Maybe Mistress Tara should run a school for submissive Trump surrogates who like to put on the mask when Mistress proceeds to show us how to “beat Trump.” More of a “Trump Subbie School” that could have mixers with Goddess Phoenix’s Dom School.

#FreetheNipple if you dare with a Lupcalian flair! Photo: Abe Bonobo

Coincidentally, I first learned about Lupercalia in 2006 (though my first Lupercalia blog was 2008), the same year that Stormy Daniels claims Trump challenged her to spank him with this Forbes Magazine for his own private FemDom Lupercal. Nancy’s got the popularity; she should whack him this week for declaring a National Emergency for his stupid Wall, the kind of thing Romulus killed Remus over. I thought it was a Forbes… maybe even that 2006 issue with Ivanka on the cover with him.

From Glamazon to Amazon (Bezos’ Amazon)

Then Stormy revealed that she spanked Trump with a copy of his own Trump Magazine. That’s even more perfect!

Ikkor is intrigued by the Bezos Pecker drama. Photo: Just Lii

I can relate to that as I spank some of my guests with my proof copies of SPANK ‘n’ Art Speakeasy Journal.

SPANK ‘n’ Art proof better than no proof. Photo: Jux Lii

Yes, we still just have proof copies this show, and actually I don’t spank anyone with these for this particular Lupercalia.

Then, our publisher, the great and ridiculously powerful Amazon, informed us at the last minute that we need releases from everyone in the magazine. We spent a few days searching, scanning and sending releases to Amazon three days ago, only to be informed they needed five days to approve it. But the proofs are cool—the “Not for Sale” band around my boobs looks like Bezos breast bondage—and the Lupercalia pages look spank-tacular.

“Floggers Not Flowers!” is the battle cry of the unValentine Lupercalian. Lupercalia was pastoral and purifying in deeply connected, communal ways that brought humans together with nature and each other. V-Day was a sham from the start, and still it struggles to maintain credibility.

Back to the unoriginal , artificially flavored holiday of the heart: Valentine’s Day, and how I (barely) handled it in 2019.

I’m all for romance, and I’ve got the almost 27-year-old marriage certificate to prove. I love the roses my Valentine gave me. But I’ll take communal lust and pleasure over commercialized love and pressure any time.

Better to have your buns beaten (consensually) on Lupercalia
Than have your heart broken (badly) on Valentine’s Day.

Which brings me back to Valentine’s Day 2019. Though I tried my over-analyzing best to make it great, or at least “not bad,” well, those best-laid plans may not get you laid the way you planned.

And they sure didn’t.

Souvenir of Valentine’s Day 2011.

I had “planned” to spend a romantic day with my Valentine, my beloved Cap’t Max. I didn’t really care what we did together, as long as we’d be together, but I hoped we could manage somehow to go down the coast to visit the bonobos at the San Diego Zoo, then attend the World Bonobo Day Celebration at the Blind Lady Ale House in San Diego where their special gift baskets were featuring signed copies of The Bonobo Way, with all proceeds go to The Bonobo Project, among other bonobo-oriented goodies. That hope evaporated when I realized how occupied I was fielding Valentine’s Day interviews and client calls. A sex therapist’s V-Day can be very busy with business.

Then a couple days before the High Holiday of Love, Max asked if it was all right with me for him to go out to see this building in Arcadia that might be the home of the next Bonoboville (it will be!), and I said sure. We’d had an awesome Valentine Splosh, Sex & Love night, and a sure-to-be-great Lupercalia in two days. I didn’t want us to miss that important opportunity because of my sappy feelings, and anyway, now that I knew about the Lupercal, I didn’t care about the enervating fake news of Valentine’s Day… did I?

Maybe, maybe not. Soon after Max left (with a lot of Valentine hugs and kisses), I turned back to my computer, and saw that my interview with Salon columnist Chauncey DeVega: Has Trump Wrecked our Sex Life? ‘Post Trump Sex Disorder’ is real, says sex therapist…” I had done the interview several months ago, so not only was it slightly out-of-date, but why, oh why did they post it on Valentine’s Day?

Because V-Day is the day that most mainstream media, even “progressive” MSM like Salon (I love Salon!), post sex-positive articles and interviews. Not that they all don’t go on ad infinitum about sex all year, but those articles tend to be about sex scandals, rapes, incel murders, sexual harassment, Trump’s cheating, lying sex life and other types of really bad, unethical sex. It’s true that Chauncey (one of my favorite Salon writers; hell, one of my favorite writers period) was mainly talking with about “Post-Trump Sex Disorder” (a different kind of PTSD) which Cosmo had first asked me about back in 2017. I don’t remember using the word “wrecked” (though he’s got the tape, and maybe I did), but it’s true that many of my sex therapy clients, show guests and friends tell me they’ve been suffering from this kind of PTSD unique to the Trumpocalypse. It’s not Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (the more serious PTSD), and certainly doesn’t require hospitalization. But it sure can ruin a V-Day or just a night when one of you wants sex and the other needs to watch Trump (or whatever breaking news is erupting from the Trump Crime Family saga), and it’s even been at the center of some divorces. We also talked about how some (male and female) Trumpsters love their “Big Mean Sexy Daddy Trump” so much, they fantasize about having sex with him, even being “inside of him”… take that as you will. We also talked about Paul Manaforte coercing his wife into interracialcuckolding, the difference between good and bad cuckolding, as well as swinging, spanking, BDSM, ammosexuals and other fetishes that relate to politics (in a way they all do). It’s a great interview!

At first, as I looked at the comments section and posted it on my Twitter and Facebook, producing a balanced amount of pro and con comments, answering as few as possible, I was just annoyed to be doing this on Valentine’ Day. Then I got really annoyed to see that some “liberals” were saying Post-Trump Sex Disorder didn’t exist, mainly because they didn’t have it (so they insisted at the top of their tweeting lungs), if you “let” Trump affect your sex life or your psychological state at all you must be some kind of mental weakling and ought to be exterminated in their new Snowflake Toughening Up Program.

Then suddenly, an avalanche of real hate mail came falling on my head. Fox-News had picked up select bits of the interview, with the very misleading Valentine headline “Not feeling the love? Blame Trump, racism and war” featuring a photo of a smiling woman (obviously meant to be a Trumper) and weeping woman (that’s… me?).

With this clickbait, the Trumpsters set aside their candy hearts and kisses to write me one vicious, threatening, horribly misspelled email, comment and tweet after another. I got so much hate mail, you’d think I was Satan… or Pan. I will soon write a whole new article about this, in which I will reprint several of these poop-laced missives to satisfy your desires for vicarious hate (I know I like to look at other people’s), but this blog is getting long enough. The flood of vitriol keeps flowing, and maybe I’ll get some more amusing (for you) epistles from the St. Valentines of the Trumpocalypse and the self-inflated sex machines of Liberalsville by the time I post the whole ugly, hilarious yet undeniably hurtful shebang.

Meanwhile I called Max, trying not to cry, and though he spoke sotto voce, so our real estate agents would hear, he was truly thrilled at the strong reaction. Basically, he was in an important meeting and would have to call me back. I told some Bonoboville crew who laughed and cheered (though some looked at me sadly like I’d contracted one more ailment). “You’re obviously touching a nerve,” said Harry Sapien. But the hate kept coming and, though I thought I was strong enough to let it roll off my back, I found the rest of my already rather sick body was breaking down in various ways, painful, nauseating and embarrassing. Again, I’ll go into more of these details for you medical fetishists later. For now, suffice it to say I was a Valentine Mess (at least not a massacre).

Red Roses and Valentine Brine.

Then Max came home with roses and sushi, hugs and kisses, and we put the roses right by our roof leaks that burst forth like a dirty waterfall on Valetnine’s Day morning, so we’d remember the date.

We had a little spat about I don’t know what, but then I turned away from my devices (that helps handle Post-Trump Sex Disorder and finally, my ridiculous mess of a V-Day turned out okay with a very happy ending.by Valentine’s Night, we were having uber-orgasmic sex, and at least for old Lupercalian Valentines like us, it was uber-orgasmic.

And Lupercalia is what we celebrate here at the little Love Church of the Bonobo Way in Bonoboville with a heartfelt feast for all the senses, including your sense of history.

Bonobo Pan

With that in mind, I channel the Spirit of Pan, the great, horned, horny goat—the Roman Faunus, Lupercus the shepherd god, the primeval Greco-Roman God of the Wild.

I channel the Spirit of Pan, Lord of Lupercalia. Photo: Selfie

I’ve loved Pan since I was a little girl ogling my big picture book of Greco-Roman mythology which was so much more engaging than the Judeo-Christian Bible, which I also read cover-to-cover, both Old and New Testaments.

Pan or Faunus/Lupercus, God of the Wild,. He loves to play, known for playing seductively on his “Pan Pipes.”

I thought Pan was particularly cool because Pan likes to play, and I liked to play.

Dreaming of Pan. Photo: Alen Red

The “God” of the Hebrews, Christians and Muslims is a “wrathful” god, occasionally a “loving” god, but never a playful god… well, except when He shows Moses His divine heart-shaped ass. That’s actually a rather Lupercalian moment, and would have been more so if Moses would have swung a leather strap across the sky like he was flogging it, but alas, none of the Biblical translations say that he did.

Much later, I learned that some of Pan’s “play” involved bestiality, which I found pretty gross, personally having no desire to have sex with any of my pet cats or parakeets, my neighbors’ dogs or even Puff the Magic Dragon. However, I was fascinated. Greco-Roman mythology is filled with stories of humans mating with gods who take the form of bulls, horses, swans and other non-human animals. And then there were all those lonely real-life goatherds and shepherds making Valentines out of their goats and sheep. We now deplore this “animal abuse,” as we should, but the abuse of non-human animals in our modern agricultural system is far worse, not to mention immensely destructive to our eco-system, and one of the chief drivers of calamitous climate change.

Pan teaches a wood nymph to play on his pipes.

No doubt, Pan is a bit of a “bad boy,” but he’s the God of the Wild and the original Ecosexual, loving the Earth he makes love on.

Pan is also the patron saint of the bonobos, as their Latin classification is Pan Paniscus. Now that Valentine’s Day has been declared World Bonobo Day, it’s as if Pan is being honored again for his divine “sponsorship” of the peace-through-pleasure loving bonobos via the ancient holiday of the heart that was “his” from the beginning.

Not being very bonoboësque, the early Church banned the people’s worship of Pan, Faunus and Lupercus. and, over time, they turned playful Pan into the Devil. The Demonization of Pan was quite intense. Sure, Pan was no Catholic priest (though some of those Catholic priests are much worse than Pan). He could be beastly and probably would have had the #MeToo movement after him, but to control people and our “nature,” the Church turned the half-man/half-goat god into the lowest of the low, the worst of the worst.

Gathered around is a convivial group of sexy women and a few good men that come in and out, as invited… or not.

Gathering in the Cave-Like Womb Room transformed into the Womb-Like Cave of the Lupercal. Photo 2G

They’re pretty much all 2018 SUZY award winners of all talents, shapes, apes and sizes.

Passing Around The SUZY. Photo: Jux Lii

Though everybody gets an “I WON A SUZY” button, we pass around the award, like it’s a sacred object, a petite “Oscar” sporting wings and a Glyde vegan condom hat its head.

PHOTOS 1 & 4: 2 PHOTOGRAPHY. PHOTOS 2 & 3: JUX LII

Blossom, sporting a glittering red heart and matching kitty ears for the holiday, even puts the SUZY on her head!

Blossom Kitty balances a SUZY award on her head between her kitty ears as Goddess Phoenix shows off her “Goddess Experience” toga/robe that she designed herself, and I congratulate tonight’s bevy of 2018 SUZY winners. Photo: Frank H

At first, I wonder if I’ll have to spank her for dropping it (which would be appropriate for Lupercalia), but she balances her SUZY perfectly like a Russian gymnast. Svetlana Khorkina, watch out!

Rhiannon Aarons is the Luper of Lupercalia

Lupercalia is so-named for the “Luper.” If you don’t know a “luper” from a “leper,” the former is Latin for “She-Wolf.” Our Luper is played in fine “furry” fashion by 2018 SUZY award winner for “Most Well-Rounded Kinkster” and “Best Stormy Daniels” impersonator, Rhiannon Aarons.

Just to remind us of how well-rounded she is, before we get our ancient tale (and tails!) off and running with the Lupercii, Rhiannon tell us about Spider, a new film she is starring in and producing.

PHOTOS 1-4: JUX LII. PHOTO 5: ALEN RED

Her co-star is none other than our old pal Ron Jeremy, who actually played Romulus in our uber-orgiastic Lupercalia Bacchanalia 2015 while all eight of our sex goddesses were the she-wolves, whose perky teats he most joyously and consensually suckled. Actually I don’t think I got through telling most of the Lupercalia story that show because Ron was so noisy about trying to fuck all eight of my female guests, and actually succeeded in getting MileyCyrus porn lookalikeMiley May and Loni Legend to suckle his schmeckle. They seemed pretty happy about the thing at the time, and I truly hope they’re not traumatized at a later date.

Then in 2016, right on Valentine’s Eve, he asked me what I was up to, and I invited him to join the Bonoboville crew for Valentine Eve dinner in his capacity as Mayor of Bonoboville at the Waterfront Café on Venice Beach.

Ron can be outrageous, and he’s been under a lot of heat with the #MeToo movement. I’m not saying their stories are right or wrong. They are their stories and their truths. Ron can be pretty pushy for sexual interaction, like Pan the horny old goat, but from what I’ve experienced and eye-witnessed over the course of 30 years, he’s always taken “no” for an answer. Fortunately, I’m not so famous that my defense of his character has brought me more than a small amount of hate mail (more about large amounts of hate mail further down).

Spider Star Rhiannon Aarons and Writer Dana Hammer. Photo: Jux Lii

Let’s not get too distracted by the Hedgehog and his scandals! Dana Hammer, the Spider writer, looks about as scandal-less (as opposed to scandalous) as a Vestal Virgin (speaking of virgins, check out my 10 Commandments of Virgin Sex, if you actually are one). But the prissy-looking ones are often the ones with the wicked imaginations. A small part of this exciting little cinematic ecapade will be shot in Bonoboville! Check out the Spider GoFundMe, and do as both Ron and Dana say: Give them money, honey.

She God Claire & Bratty Wolfie are Romulus & Remus

Two more stars of our Lupercalia Story are the twin brothers, Romulus and Remus, the founders of the great city of Rome, played by “Best Humiliatrix” 2018 SUZY award winner She God Claire and “Best Submissive”2018 SUZY award winner Bratty Wolfie (another wolf!).

Hey, boys played girls onstage in Shakespeare’s day, and girls play boys in ours. These two cuties look kind of like sisters, so why not make the famous twin brothers who are said to have founded the great city of Rome? Yes, it’s a “myth,” but less farfetched immaculate conception or Moses parting the Red Sea with nothing but his rod.

In the Lupercalia story, Romulus and Remus start out as newborn infants, the divine sons of Mars (Ares to the Greeks) the god of war. I’m a Make-Love-Not-War kind of gal, but what can I say, it’s part of the story… of human civilization. And Mars is very much a patron of the warrior culture of ancient Rome.

Holy Mother & Divine Twins. Photo: Jux Lii

As for the twins’ half-divine, half-human mother, she is Queen Rhea Silvia, the daughter of King Numitor of Alba Longa who has been dethroned by his Uncle Amulius. The Queen is also a direct descendant of Aeneas, one of the few Trojan heroes not killed or enslaved by the Greeks, and Venus, the Goddess of Love, Sex and Beauty.

Goddess Phoenix is Queen Rhea Silvia

And who better to embody the divine Queen Rhea Silvia than the luminous Goddess Phoenix, two-time winner of the “Most Dazzling Domme” SUZY award, as well as the “Best Gift award for giving me one of her signature fiber-optic floggers. It’s such a pleasure to mingle our dazzling neon “modern Lupercalian” whips together in the Womb Room for Lupercalia—feels kind of like a fiber-optic reunion!

In addition to her SUZYs, Goddess Phoenix won a women’s fitness competition in the “over 50” category. She’s always dazzling, but in her role as Queen Rhea Silvia, descendant of Venus herself, she looks like… well, Venus herself.

PHOTOS 2 & 4: JUX LII. PHOTOS 2&3: 2G

Wearing a flowing diaphanous white gown that’s a cross between a Roman toga and Striperella‘s cape, she looks like she’s floating. If you’ve had half a Jux LiiCannabelly cookie (like me half-way through the show), she looks like she’s flying in for the night and will soon be winging it back home to cavort and canoodle with the other gods on Mount Olympus.

When I ask her who the designer was, she replies, “I designed it Myself and had it made. It’s a part of my new ‘Goddess Experience’ that I teach on the lifestyle all-adult cruises. It’s the all-Olympian Goddess look.”

Like most pro-dominatrices, Goddess Phoenix looks powerful in leather and latex; I’ve seen her in both at various DomCons. But lately, she’s been wearing softer, more comfortable fabrics, off and on. She looks just as powerful as ever, maybe more than ever, because she breaks through with her message of glamorous Amazon (no, not Jeff Bezos’ Amazon; Wonder Woman’s Amazon), aka “glamazon” female power to folks who might be into leather. I love leather, but I haven’t worn it much lately, partly because it’s expensive and, well, animal rights, anyone? As for latex, I it looks so shiny and sexy, but it’s not exactly easy-to-wear nor to have sex in.

You can easily imagine Goddess Phoenix, descendent of Venus, having sex with the great god Mars in this light, white diaphanous toga-gown, then falling asleep in his arms and waking up in it to greet the dawn on her balcony in ancient Alba Longa, Italy… and then whipping Mars’ muscular, heart-shaped ass.

FemDom Venus dominates Mars in a Bonobo Way in this famous Botticelli painting.

With 25 years of experience dominating willing subjects, Goddess Phoenix will teach “the next generation” of dominatrices and doms how to practice the arts of BDSM and fetish, including “The Goddess Experience,” in the about-to-open “Dom School,” which she created with our mutual friend, headmistress of DomCon and Sanctuary, Mistress Cyan.

Innocently playing with their Divine Mom by the Tiber, the kids don’t unterstand what those Evil Hands have up their sleeves. Photo: 2G

Since he’d forced her to be a Vestal Virgin when he stole her father King Numitor’s throne, this greatly angers their evil great uncle Amulius. So he tears the twins from her arms and has them tossed into the Tiber River.

Capt’n Max, in the role of mean old King Amulius, tosses the infant terrorists into the Tiber River where he expects them to drown. Photo: Jux Lii

Tossing newborns into rivers, abandoning them on mountaintops–these were popular methods of infanticide that many politically-minded tyrants utilized back then with “undesirable” infants, rather than outright executing them and possibly incurring the perpetual wrath of important gods.

Harsh treatment? You bet, though not lot harsher than our current Tyrant-in-Chief putting migrant children in cages, which kills some of them out of neglect and bitter conditions, while others are *just* physically and mentally traumatized.

Blue tsunami in the Speakeasy! Photo: Frank H

The part of bad old King Aumulias who commits this heinous crime has been expands in this Commedia Erotica Lupercalia production, so it requires two actors to fill the role, the first being Capt’n Max, who enjoys playing heinous criminals with a little humor and humanity, and also he was born in Rome. He even delivers his soliloquy in Italian, as the mean old bastard mimes taking the helpless infants from Queen Rhea Silvia and tossing them into the Tiber.

They wave this piece of blue material up and down as Romulus and Remus mime drowning and trying to swim. It’s like a very low-budget school play with FemDoms and subbies, artists and exhibitionists, voyeurs and connoisseurs. The dramatic free-for-Facebook music Abe plays sounds very theatrical, a little corny, but really engaging us in the “Tiber River Experience.”

Rescued by the Luper & Suckled in the Lupercal Cave

So it flows until Romulus and Remus are miraculously rescued by Rhiannon, the sacred She-Wolf heroine, who pulls them out of the river and “suckles” them in that cave they call the Lupercal.

The Luper spies the Twins in the Tiber. Photo: Jux Lii

Interestingly, the word “lupa” is Latin slang for “prostitute.” This explains a lot, especially all the suckling.

It’s actually not as far-fetched as the Christian concept of immaculate conception. Some children have indeed been raised by wolves. Some of these wolves are probably more nurturing than human parents. After all, wolves are close to dogs, “man’s best friend,” except they’re wild and know how to live in the wild.

Let the Suckling Begin! Let the Luper Nurse the Future People of Rome. Photo: Jux Lii

So our lovely Luper/Lupa now opens her furry coat to reveal her fabulous natural tits, aka teats that suckle our heroes into heroism. When she stands up straight, she looks like some kind of Native American goddess temple totem pole. When she leans over, her large teat flopping naturally, like any natural mother, the Luper.

Wolf Milk must be good. Photo: 2G

Romulus and Remus, with more oral passion than passionate oratory, tune into the primal spirit of the She-Wolf, the classical Cougar, the “Sacred Whore” of the original Valentine’s Day, the Great Wolf-MILF of ancient Rome.

The Luper (She-Wolf) suckles Romulus and Remus, the twin founders of Rome.

Take that literally, and we’re back to those Tuscan shepherds getting their calcium straight from the teat.

The Luper suckles the Founders of Rome as the Trumps sucks his thumb. Photo: Alen Red

But it’s also about other kinds of nurturing only Mother Nature provides that can save our lives.

Romulus and Remus grow up strong, maybe a little crazy and very in touch with their animal nature from nursing on all that wolf milk.

asPHOTOS 1 & 2: JUX LII. PHOTOS 3 & 4: 2G

As they get older, they hear the story of their evil Great Uncle Amulius, and they are tormented by flashbacks replaying that awful ,oment when he tears them screaming from their true mother’s arms, then locks her up and tosses them into the treacherous Tiber to die.

Maybe a passing traveler tells them what’s really going on, or maybe they can speak “wolf” now and they hear it straight from the Luper’s mouth. In any case being Sons of Mars and Queen Rhea Silvia, they can’t help but have Wet Dreams about violent revenge.

In the warm furry arms of the Luper, Romulus and Remes start to dream of taking revenge on the Tyrant. Little do they know, their Divine Mother is already punishing him for his sins. Photo Jux Lii

The dreams virtually ejaculate the twins from the dark, primeval cave for Alba Longa where they break into Amulius’ palace and murder him. Apparently, nobody stops them or does anything about it, probably because they all secretly hated the old tyrant.

Of course, we don’t actually “kill” any of our Commedia Erotica players; we flog, spank or whip them with the Jux Leather “februa” (from which we get our name for the month of “February,” showing how much clout Lupercalia had back in the day) them instead, which is totally appropriate to Lupercalia, the festival of flogging.

Lypercalian Reunions. Photo 2G

For this particular execution, our victorious “feral” twins chose a paddle, but not just any paddle. King Amulius, now played by Tim Sewall, 2018 SUZY award winner for “Best Baby Trump,” appropriately wearing the Trump mask to connect this Tale of Two Tyrants, one in Alba Longa and the other in the White House. He’s also wearing a black T Shirt showing Trump on Nancy Pelosi’s leash that says “Trump is my bitch.” Then there’s the “Big Man Size” Pelosi paddle, which is what the twins use to carry out their murderous vengeance upon the evil old man.

Lupercalian Mother & Children Reunion. Photo: 2G

Then they return the kingdom of Alba Longa to their Granddad Numitor, and give their mom, Queen Rhea Silvia, a big beautiful hug.

It’s been years (I’m figuring 15) since they’ve seen each other. They also give her the Pelosi paddle to whack the tyrant (or would-be tyrant, since Trump can’t get enough done to be an actual tyrant).

The triumphant Family stands upon their vanquished enemy. Is this the origins of the Cosa Notra? Photo: Frank H

Like typical teenagers raised by wolves, Romulus and Remus get out of town and go on to create a whole new city. And they did just pay (or not pay) their workers while they vacationed on the Riviera (kind of like Mar-A-Lago, but a lot less tacky); they built this city themselves side by side with their workers.

But alas, these boys are sons of Mars, not bonobos, so they quarrel about a fence—which is sometimes called a WALL, of all things (they didn’t have beautiful steel slats back then). Humpty Trumpty certainly isn’t the first arrogant dude to put up a wall to keep out the “invader” who’s actually your own brother.

Like Nancy Pelosi, Remus mocks the effectiveness of the Wall. And really, he’s right. Then, maybe because he knows his twin is right, in a Mars-like rage of sibling rivalry like the Judeo-Christian-Islamic Bible’s Cain killing his brother Able, Romulus kills his twin brother Remus.

Just as Cain killed Able in the Judeo-Christian-Islamic Bible, so Romulus kills his beloved brother Remus. Photo: Alen Red

Fratricide is a recurring theme among the ancients, both pagans and monotheists. Cain is presented as pretty damn evil, not to mention babyish, feeling sorry for himself for losing the favor of “God,” while (in typical Greco-Roman fashion), Romulus is portrayed with more nuance. Unlike Cain, Romulus loved Remus. This was not a deliberate murder like jealous Cain killing Able, but a terrible accident of rage—over that damn WALL. He is said to sincerely “regret” the killing of his beloved twin brother Remus.

The Ecstatic Resurrection of Remus as a Wolf. Photo: 2G

Not that it matters in Bonoboville where the fratricide is dramatized by Romulus whipping Remus with their own mother’s fiber-optic flogger, and then we get to experience the resurrection of Remus as a Wolf!

Meanwhile, back in the almost-built city, their fellow builders whisper and wonder if maybe Romulus’ much on-display “regret,” was just political posturing and crocodile tears. Whatever it was (if it even ever was)—kind of like Trump “forgetting” that February 14th was the one-year anniversary of the Valentine’s Day Massacre at Florida’s Marjory Stoneman high school—Romulus appears to forget his beloved twin.With great vigor and triumph, he builds the city of both twins’ dreams, which he names Rome, after himself, conveniently overlooking his twin brother.

Otherwise, Rome would be called “Reme.”

Cave of the Lupercal “Frat Boy” Gatherings

However, Remus isn’t completely gone, and now I’m not just talking about Bonoboville; I mean those seven sexy hills of earliest Rome, one of the world’s oldest major metropolitan areas that’s still got the cojones (not the briefs, the balls, and I would say the passion). Remus’ spirit lives on in a college fraternity, the Luperci Fabii, as does that of Romulus in the Luperci Quintilii.

We return from the break to give out more SUZYs and take Lupercalian mythology into Roman history. Photo: Alen Red

As time passes, these two fraternities, populated by young, noble, nearly naked, Roman college boys or “frat boys” get together to connect, make peace and have fun. I can relate because my alma mater (not just my panty logo), Yale, sometimes lets some students release that Lupercalian spirit). More on that my WYBC show.

Lupercii Yalie. Photo: Jux Lii

Every Ides of February, these college boys would meet within that dark, womb-like cave of the Lupercal where the She-Wolf/Whore (Luper/Lupa) once suckled, nurtured and loved their twin great-great-great-grandfathers.

In the ancient cave, the sexy young frat bros and their priestly leaders sacrificed a goat, played pretty hilariously by Sunshine McWanes, wearing flashing goatish devil horns on her head and my ancient fur coat (once worn by the artist Mario Saucedo’s beloved mother) over her shoulders. At first she’s in a pretty unsexy black shirt, but she sacrifices that to reveal her boobs, to the Womb Room’s applause.

Goat Sacrifice in the Womb Room. Photo: Frank H

The goat is to honor Pan, the horny old goat god.

No, not Betsey! Photo: Frank H

Some accounts they also sacrificed small dogs (maybe because they’re close to wolves)!

This disturbs me (I can’t help but think of Betsy), so I skip that part.

In any case, we don’t sacrifice anybody; we just whip them with our Februa. One goat isn’t quite enough for this hungry crew, so Kacy also becomes a sacrifice in the Lupercal Cave. This may turn off some anti-sex feminists and Puritans, but I like to imagine that all those horny rich college boys invited a Lupa (sex worker) or two to their private Lupercalian festivities, honoring them as Goddesses and paying them well for their services.

We also honor Pan by marking each other’s foreheads with the blood of the sacred beast.

Drawning the Sun on Sunshinethe Sacrificial Goat. Photo: 2G

In Bonoboville, we use red lipstick (provided by the fabulous Gypsy Bonobo) instead of goat’s blood (which would be a little messy), drawing Xs, hearts, stars and Scarlet Letters on foreheads uplifted to Olympus.

Simply divine and wild in the best ways, she requests three dots in a horizontal row, a symbol of her Apache Native American tribe. Unlike Elizabeth Warren, who I still like, despite those silly DNA test results, Goddess Phoenix is really part Apache and spent some of her childhood on a Apache reservation. It is such an honor to mark this great bonoboesque Apache/Roman queen with our sacred Lupercalian lipstick.

But unlike the Church, the Lupercalians never took themselves too seriously, and neither do we

We begin the Festival of Flogging in the Cave of the Lupercal. Photo: Jux Lii

They were more wary of human hubris, which the Trumpus constantly displays like McDonald’s features tasteless, unhealthy Big Macs to the tune of billions of dollars, euros, yen, pesos, rubles and every other currency, helping to destroy the environment and faithful customers’ bodies.

The Running of the Lupercii

Upon being marked on the forehead with goat’s red blood and white mill, the original Lupercalians laughed ritualistically. We laugh spontaneously; all that forehead-marking is pretty funny.

Wielding Our Februa in February. Photo: Jux Lii

Too bad our resurrected sacrificial goat, marked by sunshine, is MIA for this scene, but the rumor is that she took the Lupercalian drinking tradition a little too far for her delicate constitution, and passed out in the Green Room.

The original Lupercalians then feasted on fresh roasted goat and drank a lot of wine. Here in Bonoboville, we forego the goat meat, but we do a lot of flogging with februa, partying like pagans for Pan, Bacchus and Venus.

Ikkor the Wolf on Lupercalia 2019 in Bonoboville. Photo: Jux Lii

Even Jack Nice, now sporting a bushy beard that gives him that Jack-Kerouac-and-Alan-Ginsberg’s-Love-Child look and, as always, an endearing grin, gets down on his hands and knees for a few good swats from She God Claire, as Bonoboville’s Rapper-in-Residence Ikkor the Wolf sings “She Bad.”

With Ikkor, Bratty Wolfie and Rhiannon in her She-Wolf mask, it’s Wolf Night in Bonoboville. Aaoooooooohhh!

Ikkor the Wolf stirs up the Running of the Lupercii. Photo:

I’m sure the ancient Lupercii also had singers, rappers, thespians and musicians singing and playing as they ran through the countryside and into the towns, whipping everyone who held out their hands, buns or other body parts into a state of luck, love and horniness.

Tammie Parrott didn’t make it for Lupercalia 2019, but this Ono Bo pic of Tammie getting flogged for Lupercalia 2015 is featured in our new SPANK ‘n’ Art Speakeasy Journal on P.134-135.

The Romans called this event “The Running of the Luperci,” and they believed that such gentle, consensual whacks ensured fertility.

It’s not be as scientific as an IVF clinic, but it sure did whip the local populace up into a frenzy for sex, often creating a Roman baby boom around harvest time.

Julius Caesar & Lupercalia

Which brings me back to Marc Antony in one of Shakespeare’s most intriguing history plays, “Julius Caesar.” Antony was an avid Luperci, and he presented Caesar with a crown at the climax of the Lupercalia.

Julius Caesar turns down the crown that Marc Anthony presents to him at the Lupercalia… at first

Wisely, at first, Caesar turned it down. Finally, goaded by the jovial drunken mob, he accepted the crown as everyone cheered their approval. Well, not everyone.

Caesar is assassinated in an all-male gang-bang with no sex (though several of these men wished to have sex with Caesar) and buckets of blood which have never washed away.

The Senators of Rome—some of whom were his trusted friends (“Et tu, Brute?”), and none of whom were Lupercii—gang-murdered Julius Caesar in an orgy of blood on the Senate floor by the Ides of March.

Rebranding Lupercalia as SAINT Valentine’s Day

All that public whipping followed by rapturous orgies was a lot more erotic than a paper Valentine. It was a little too erotic for the early Catholic Church which violently squelched Lupercalian enthusiasm at the end of the 5th century by making the holiday illegal.

Whipping It Up for Lupercalia in 2016. Photo: B Natural

The also turned Pan/Faunus/Lupercus into the Devil, very effectively rebranding the horny old Lupercalian goat and all communal sacred sex as “Satanic.”

The elites of Rome approved the move; Lupercalian wildness had always frightened them. At first, the common people of Rome rebelled, but the rebels were killed or imprisoned as “Satanists”. Then the Church plunked the more saintly Valentine’s Day, based on a celibate priest they called Saint Valentine (who was less likely to exist than Romulus and Remus), a couple of days before the old Lupercalia, even appropriating the vivid color of goat’s blood smeared on human skin and milk as its signature shades: vivid Cardinal red and milky white.

The Roman people accepted this forced romance like rape victims trying to save their lives might appear to “accept” rape, Otherwise they’d be executed or imprisoned, tortured (nonconsensually) and then executed as Satanic heretics.

The Valentine Heart is a Well-Whipped Heart Shaped Ass

Despite the Church’s demolishment of Lupercalia, another symbol of Valentine’s Day seems to be Lupercalian in origin. That is, the classic Valentine “heart” looks nothing like the cardiac organ for which it appears to be named. It does, however, closely resemble a well-whipped set of buns. No wonder we call the perfect ass “heart-shaped.” Bratty Wolfie’s heat-shaped buns are an especially apt example, especially when they are whipped red by her Queenly Mother, flogging expert Goddess Phoenix.

The Church may have banned Lupercalia for centuries, sugar-coating its lusty history with the forced coupling of Valentine’s Day, but we are bringing it back from the annals of prehistoric Rome to the anals—and hot heart-shaped asses—of modern Bonoboville.

Trumpus Amulius holds out his tiny hands for the Luper/Lupa in Red to hit them with the Februa. Photo: Jux Lii

Meanwhile, Trump/Amulius reappears to hold out his tiny hands and lying ass that get whupped with a rainbow of februa and the Nancy Pelosi paddle. Always mixing FemDom politics and BDSM theater, we give a shout-out to Mistress Tara Indiana’s Dominatrixes against Trump (D.A.D) who have nurtured both Rhiannon and Tim politically, artistically and fetishistically, including our amazing Russian Hooker Pee Party, sharing their golden sprinkles on a different Trump.

Maybe Mistress Tara should run a school for submissive Trump surrogates who like to put on the mask when Mistress proceeds to show us how to “beat Trump.” More of a “Trump Subbie School” that could have mixers with Goddess Phoenix’s Dom School.

#FreetheNipple if you dare with a Lupcalian flair! Photo: Abe Bonobo

Coincidentally, I first learned about Lupercalia in 2006 (though my first Lupercalia blog was 2008), the same year that Stormy Daniels claims Trump challenged her to spank him with this Forbes Magazine for his own private FemDom Lupercal. Nancy’s got the popularity; she should whack him this week for declaring a National Emergency for his stupid Wall, the kind of thing Romulus killed Remus over. I thought it was a Forbes… maybe even that 2006 issue with Ivanka on the cover with him.

From Glamazon to Amazon (Bezos’ Amazon)

Then Stormy revealed that she spanked Trump with a copy of his own Trump Magazine. That’s even more perfect!

Ikkor is intrigued by the Bezos Pecker drama. Photo: Just Lii

I can relate to that as I spank some of my guests with my proof copies of SPANK ‘n’ Art Speakeasy Journal.

SPANK ‘n’ Art proof better than no proof. Photo: Jux Lii

Yes, we still just have proof copies this show, and actually I don’t spank anyone with these for this particular Lupercalia.

Then, our publisher, the great and ridiculously powerful Amazon, informed us at the last minute that we need releases from everyone in the magazine. We spent a few days searching, scanning and sending releases to Amazon three days ago, only to be informed they needed five days to approve it. But the proofs are cool—the “Not for Sale” band around my boobs looks like Bezos breast bondage—and the Lupercalia pages look spank-tacular.

“Floggers Not Flowers!” is the battle cry of the unValentine Lupercalian. Lupercalia was pastoral and purifying in deeply connected, communal ways that brought humans together with nature and each other. V-Day was a sham from the start, and still it struggles to maintain credibility.

Back to the unoriginal , artificially flavored holiday of the heart: Valentine’s Day, and how I (barely) handled it in 2019.

I’m all for romance, and I’ve got the almost 27-year-old marriage certificate to prove. I love the roses my Valentine gave me. But I’ll take communal lust and pleasure over commercialized love and pressure any time.

Better to have your buns beaten (consensually) on Lupercalia
Than have your heart broken (badly) on Valentine’s Day.

Which brings me back to Valentine’s Day 2019. Though I tried my over-analyzing best to make it great, or at least “not bad,” well, those best-laid plans may not get you laid the way you planned.

And they sure didn’t.

Souvenir of Valentine’s Day 2011.

I had “planned” to spend a romantic day with my Valentine, my beloved Cap’t Max. I didn’t really care what we did together, as long as we’d be together, but I hoped we could manage somehow to go down the coast to visit the bonobos at the San Diego Zoo, then attend the World Bonobo Day Celebration at the Blind Lady Ale House in San Diego where their special gift baskets were featuring signed copies of The Bonobo Way, with all proceeds go to The Bonobo Project, among other bonobo-oriented goodies. That hope evaporated when I realized how occupied I was fielding Valentine’s Day interviews and client calls. A sex therapist’s V-Day can be very busy with business.

Then a couple days before the High Holiday of Love, Max asked if it was all right with me for him to go out to see this building in Arcadia that might be the home of the next Bonoboville (it will be!), and I said sure. We’d had an awesome Valentine Splosh, Sex & Love night, and a sure-to-be-great Lupercalia in two days. I didn’t want us to miss that important opportunity because of my sappy feelings, and anyway, now that I knew about the Lupercal, I didn’t care about the enervating fake news of Valentine’s Day… did I?

Maybe, maybe not. Soon after Max left (with a lot of Valentine hugs and kisses), I turned back to my computer, and saw that my interview with Salon columnist Chauncey DeVega: Has Trump Wrecked our Sex Life? ‘Post Trump Sex Disorder’ is real, says sex therapist…” I had done the interview several months ago, so not only was it slightly out-of-date, but why, oh why did they post it on Valentine’s Day?

Because V-Day is the day that most mainstream media, even “progressive” MSM like Salon (I love Salon!), post sex-positive articles and interviews. Not that they all don’t go on ad infinitum about sex all year, but those articles tend to be about sex scandals, rapes, incel murders, sexual harassment, Trump’s cheating, lying sex life and other types of really bad, unethical sex. It’s true that Chauncey (one of my favorite Salon writers; hell, one of my favorite writers period) was mainly talking with about “Post-Trump Sex Disorder” (a different kind of PTSD) which Cosmo had first asked me about back in 2017. I don’t remember using the word “wrecked” (though he’s got the tape, and maybe I did), but it’s true that many of my sex therapy clients, show guests and friends tell me they’ve been suffering from this kind of PTSD unique to the Trumpocalypse. It’s not Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (the more serious PTSD), and certainly doesn’t require hospitalization. But it sure can ruin a V-Day or just a night when one of you wants sex and the other needs to watch Trump (or whatever breaking news is erupting from the Trump Crime Family saga), and it’s even been at the center of some divorces. We also talked about how some (male and female) Trumpsters love their “Big Mean Sexy Daddy Trump” so much, they fantasize about having sex with him, even being “inside of him”… take that as you will. We also talked about Paul Manaforte coercing his wife into interracialcuckolding, the difference between good and bad cuckolding, as well as swinging, spanking, BDSM, ammosexuals and other fetishes that relate to politics (in a way they all do). It’s a great interview!

At first, as I looked at the comments section and posted it on my Twitter and Facebook, producing a balanced amount of pro and con comments, answering as few as possible, I was just annoyed to be doing this on Valentine’ Day. Then I got really annoyed to see that some “liberals” were saying Post-Trump Sex Disorder didn’t exist, mainly because they didn’t have it (so they insisted at the top of their tweeting lungs), if you “let” Trump affect your sex life or your psychological state at all you must be some kind of mental weakling and ought to be exterminated in their new Snowflake Toughening Up Program.

Then suddenly, an avalanche of real hate mail came falling on my head. Fox-News had picked up select bits of the interview, with the very misleading Valentine headline “Not feeling the love? Blame Trump, racism and war” featuring a photo of a smiling woman (obviously meant to be a Trumper) and weeping woman (that’s… me?).

With this clickbait, the Trumpsters set aside their candy hearts and kisses to write me one vicious, threatening, horribly misspelled email, comment and tweet after another. I got so much hate mail, you’d think I was Satan… or Pan. I will soon write a whole new article about this, in which I will reprint several of these poop-laced missives to satisfy your desires for vicarious hate (I know I like to look at other people’s), but this blog is getting long enough. The flood of vitriol keeps flowing, and maybe I’ll get some more amusing (for you) epistles from the St. Valentines of the Trumpocalypse and the self-inflated sex machines of Liberalsville by the time I post the whole ugly, hilarious yet undeniably hurtful shebang.

Meanwhile I called Max, trying not to cry, and though he spoke sotto voce, so our real estate agents would hear, he was truly thrilled at the strong reaction. Basically, he was in an important meeting and would have to call me back. I told some Bonoboville crew who laughed and cheered (though some looked at me sadly like I’d contracted one more ailment). “You’re obviously touching a nerve,” said Harry Sapien. But the hate kept coming and, though I thought I was strong enough to let it roll off my back, I found the rest of my already rather sick body was breaking down in various ways, painful, nauseating and embarrassing. Again, I’ll go into more of these details for you medical fetishists later. For now, suffice it to say I was a Valentine Mess (at least not a massacre).

Red Roses and Valentine Brine.

Then Max came home with roses and sushi, hugs and kisses, and we put the roses right by our roof leaks that burst forth like a dirty waterfall on Valetnine’s Day morning, so we’d remember the date.

We had a little spat about I don’t know what, but then I turned away from my devices (that helps handle Post-Trump Sex Disorder and finally, my ridiculous mess of a V-Day turned out okay with a very happy ending.by Valentine’s Night, we were having uber-orgasmic sex, and at least for old Lupercalian Valentines like us, it was uber-orgasmic.

Turn the clock back to last Lupercalia, when the Womb Room became the “Cave of the Lupercal” and welcomed the wolves, bonobo sapiens, friends and strangers within its walls, including the night’s “sacrificial goat,” singer Elena Rayn, who offered Bonoboville her shapely bottom to be flogged and spanked as she sang! See it now in Valentine Lupercalia 2018.

Let’s look back to 2014 when the Womb Room celebrated its fourth year of LUPERCALIA: the original pagan version of the hyper-commercialized holiday known to most as Valentine’s Day. On this day, Bonoboville swapped flowers for floggers and welcomed a bevy of kinksters, including Dr, Suzy’s favorite “Left Coast” BDSM family led by Goddess Soma Snakeoil, and her (now ex) alpha slave/Daddy, kilted punk rock legend Mike Burkett, aka “Fat Mike,” lead singer/songwriter and bassist for punk rock band NoFX. Check it out onLUPERCALIA 2014 ❤

Give The Bonobo Way for Lupercalia and spread the gospel of “Peace on Earth ~ Pleasure for All.” A portion of all Bonobo Way book sales are donated to bonobo conservation, so when you order your copy of this life-changing book, you are also helping to save these marvelous creatures from extinction {8(:|).

Read Dr. Susan Block’s amazing and controversial interview (lots of hate mail, mostly from Trumpster, though some from sexually uptight “liberals”) with Salon political writer Chauncey Devega on Post-Trump Sex Disorder, Trump-Fueled Sexual Fantasies, Swinging, Interracial Cuckolding, Cuck-Calling and much more in SALON

Turn the clock back to last Lupercalia, when the Womb Room became the “Cave of the Lupercal” and welcomed the wolves, bonobo sapiens, friends and strangers within its walls, including the night’s “sacrificial goat,” singer Elena Rayn, who offered Bonoboville her shapely bottom to be flogged and spanked as she sang! See it now in Valentine Lupercalia 2018.

Let’s look back to 2014 when the Womb Room celebrated its fourth year of LUPERCALIA: the original pagan version of the hyper-commercialized holiday known to most as Valentine’s Day. On this day, Bonoboville swapped flowers for floggers and welcomed a bevy of kinksters, including Dr, Suzy’s favorite “Left Coast” BDSM family led by Goddess Soma Snakeoil, and her (now ex) alpha slave/Daddy, kilted punk rock legend Mike Burkett, aka “Fat Mike,” lead singer/songwriter and bassist for punk rock band NoFX. Check it out onLUPERCALIA 2014 ❤

Give The Bonobo Way for Lupercalia and spread the gospel of “Peace on Earth ~ Pleasure for All.” A portion of all Bonobo Way book sales are donated to bonobo conservation, so when you order your copy of this life-changing book, you are also helping to save these marvelous creatures from extinction {8(:|).

Read Dr. Susan Block’s amazing and controversial interview (lots of hate mail, mostly from Trumpster, though some from sexually uptight “liberals”) with Salon political writer Chauncey Devega on Post-Trump Sex Disorder, Trump-Fueled Sexual Fantasies, Swinging, Interracial Cuckolding, Cuck-Calling and much more in SALON

He’s certainly the world’s richest exhibitionist. He also might be the world’s smartest exhibitionist, having figured out how to make his (thus far) unseen dick pic into a cause célèbre of the Resistance and anyone whose privacy has been violated.

In case you’ve been under a rock or that “log” that Jeff B. so majestically “rolled over” to “see what crawls out,” here’s the salacious and inspiring story in a nut (yep, those nuts) shell: A few hours after the Amazon founder and his wife of 25 years, MacKenzie, officially announced that they were amicably divorcing, the National Enquirer published an “exposé” of Jeff’s affair with media personality, Lauren Sanchez (who looks remarkably like MacKenzie, but that’s another fetish). The tabloid mentioned that it also had some photos in its possession that were “too” explicit to publish, though it did rummage up the moral justification (something to do with Bezos’ “fitness” to be a multi-billionaire) to publish a number of private, passionate sexts, such as:

“I love you, alive girl. I will show you with my body, and my lips and my eyes, very soon”

“I want to smell you, I want to breathe you in. I want to hold you tight.… I want to kiss your lips…. I love you. I am in love with you…”

Reading these, I (like so many of my fellow Internet voyeurs) couldn’t help but laugh and share them with friends (as if we haven’t ardently and awkwardly sexted too), and yet, even then, I had to hand it to the world’s richest lovestruck horndog for feeling free enough to express his romantic passions with the woman he adores, which is very bonoboesque.

Nevertheless, I was pissed for MacKenzie, even though I, like most people, don’t know bananas about the Bezoses except for what they put out there in press releases and a scathing Amazon book review, plus what the snarky, sanctimonious tabloids choose to publish. It’s possible that the Bezoses had some level of “open” marriage and/or Mac has her own side dish (she certainly looks sexy enough, like a slimmer Lauren Sanchez!), or maybe they’d been on the outs since before all the sexting started. Of course, knowing I didn’t know didn’t stop me from joining in the social media mockery mob, crowing about my marriage being worth more than the Bezos’ 135 billion which he now has to split with MacKenzie, and making my own Bezos dick pic featuring a fairly large rubber dildo (rumor has it that the owner of the Washington Post is “well-endowed”) with a big helmet head, Bezos’ head.

I apologize for comparing JB’s skull to a glans penis, but people say Matthew Whitaker looks like a big thumb, and he actually used to market “masculine” toilet bowls for guys who think they have big dicks. So why not imagine Bezos’ happy, well-shined pate as the head of a happy cock?

Even now, after the media gossip has turned a major corner, I’d say the likeness is pretty apt.

The big difference is that my dick pic doesn’t have balls, and Mr. Bezos (as Mr. Pecker would very soon find out) most certainly has some.

“No Thank You, Mr. Pecker”

In the meantime, shortly after the release of the sexts, I, along with most of the world, forgot about Mr. Bezos and the two Peckers, aside from some of us wondering if the Amazon arrow could be an abstract rendering. But then, just in time for Valentine’s Day, gossip-fetishists of the world received a very special Amazon package, and no I don’t mean the dick pic (we wish!); I mean Bezos’ extraordinary open letter or blog, “No Thank You Mr. Pecker.”

In it, the man who founded Amazon and bought the Washington Post opens up about a personal problem he’s been having, suggesting that what happened to him could happen to anyone, or at least anyone who sexts dick pics (which, as a sex therapist, I can tell you, is a lot of people). Then Bezos lays out a story that fingers Mr. Pecker (I can’t help it; the puns write themselves), the National Enquirer and its parent company American Media (AMI), as well as the Trumpus himself, in a tale of blackmail, corruption and yes, sweet collusion with a foreign power, that’s a lot clearer to the non-FBI eye than that curdled decanter of Russian dressing.

Speaking of condiments, talk about getting your Pecker in a jam.

According to Bezos’ story, and the emails he claims to quote verbatim, Trump’s dear old friend David Pecker tried to blackmail Trump’s dear old enemy Jeff Bezos over his dick pic, most probably with the Tangerine Toadstool’s involvement. Trump couldn’t contain his glee about “Jeff Bozo’s” sexts being exposed in the National Enquirer, a more “accurate” publication than the “Amazon Washington Post” (Amazon doesn’t own WaPo; Bezos does, though he admits it’s a “complexifier”). Our Prez does wear his criminal heart on his sleeve, after all.

Back to the blackmail which sounds so cloak and dagger, but seriously, Chief Content Office Dylan Howard and Deputy General Counsel Jon Fine lay it all out there “in writing,” as Bezos can’t help but gloat. If you think it’s dumb for Bezos to sext his dick, how dumb is it to email the wealthiest dude in the world your blackmail threat to publish said dick in the National Enquirer unless he agrees to absolve the National Enquirer and AMI of any and all “political motivation”?

According to Bezos, after the Enquirer had published the sexts, his private securities-tzar-on-retainer, one Gavin de Becker, found that Mr. Pecker’s exposé does indeed seem to be “politically motivated” due to unfavorable coverage in the Washington Post of his good friend Donnie, aka David Dennison (in Stormy’s NDA, on which Pecker consulted), aka Mr. No Name (in Pecker’s own “catch and kill” with Trump’s Playmate paramour Karen McDougal) aka Individual 1 (in Michael Cohen’s flip that also fingers Mr. Pecker) aka Mr. President Donald J. Trump.

Pecker’s BS for MbS

De Becker vs. Pecker (the rhymes also write themselves) gets deeper with the security wrangler finding that the AMI publisher was also not happy with WaPo’s coverage of the assassination of one of their columnists, one Jamal Khashoggi, with all evidence pointing to another, newer “friend” of Mr. Pecker, one hip young murderous Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, aka MbS. Tellingly, AMI also published The New Kingdom, an absurdly pro-Saudi magazine that inundated supermarkets just before MbS’ March 2018 trip to the U.S. where he met with Trump, Oprah and other “dignitaries” who may not have known Khashoggi was on the Crown Prince’s hit list, but surely they knew of the Saudi-committed (with American-made weapons) atrocities in Yemen. Since The New Kingdom was clearly a puff piece for the Saudis (who were sent advance copies before publication), which would require AMI to register as a foreign agent; since they didn’t do that, AMI broke the law. Though Pecker’s deal with Mueller says “no new crimes,” and that particular crime was so last year.

AMI’s crime of blackmailing Bezos, however, is very much this year. Therefore, last Wednesday, Jon Fine (who used to work for Amazon!) demanded of de Becker’s lawyer Martin Singer (“Marty”) that Bezos and de Becker stop investigating Pecker(!) forthwith and declare that they “have no knowledge or basis for suggesting that AMI’s coverage was politically motivated or influenced by political forces”… or else dick pic and other private selfies will be released.

Last Thursday, Bezos published the whole damning thing, or at least the incriminatory emails, basically calling Pecker’s bluff and probably getting him into deep, stinky doo-doo with the Independent Counsel’s office.

Yes indeed, Trump loves to think of his narcissistic self as King Midas with everything he touches turning to gold, but really he’s King Shithole and everything—and everyone—he touches turns to shit… or falls in a shithole and gets covered with it… or shines a light on the illegal, gross, greedy, racist, sexist, noxious shit they’ve been doing for years just out of public scrutiny (here’s looking at you, Paul “The Coercive Cuckold” Manafort), so that now everybody can see what shitheads they are, and now a few of them are going to spend some of the shittiest years of their shit-spewing lives in the vast, multi-franchised system of shitholes known as the American Prison-Industrial Complex (PIC).

Life Lesson: If your last name is Pecker, don’t blackmail guys over dick pics.

“Bezos Exposes Pecker”

Once Bezos’ manifesto exploded like the cum shot heard round the world, from within the belly of the Internet (which he owns almost half of), he went from world’s richest whipping boy to world’s bravest superhero in a nanosecond.

The Huffington Post came up with the best headline, “Bezos Exposes Pecker” (kudos to Hufpo reporter Hayley Miller who wrote that headline on the subway right after Bezos released his masterpiece), which ,the New York Post promptly copied. But hey, what’s a little plagiarism when there’s juicy. sexual, political blackmail going down?

The Bezos Epistle came as if heaven-sent to the increasingly inspiration-starved Resistance, the same folks who had mocked the Amazon founder’s public disgrace a few weeks earlier, now praising him for his “courage” and “sheer genius.”

The Power of Exhibitionism

Going back to my original point, I’d just like to add “exhibitionist” to that list of florid descriptors.

A consensual exhibitionist, I’d surmise—or hope. I haven’t heard anything about Bezos flashing his pecker from his desk at unsuspecting victims who may or may not work for him, like some film directors and stand-up comics. Along with purple-prose sexting, his fetish is to take selfies of his near-naked body, with a particular focus on his erect “manhood” inside and out of his “tight black boxer briefs” or skimpy “towel.” It might sound kinky, but it’s a very popular fetish in these smartphone-addicted times, compounded by heightening fears of in-person flirting. Carefully the “bad” shots, he then sends his favorites discreetly to his mistress.

Discreetly? How could anyone involved in technology, let alone the King of Online Shopping, think that sexting or any kind of texting can be done discreetly? Technology or no technology, there’s a living, breathing, potentially indiscreet human being (at least one) on the receiving end of your “discreet” dick pic. Some say Linda Sanchez’ brother, Michael Sanchez, a PR exec close to Pecker, Roger Stone (oh no, not him again!) and Carter Page, might be the one with “loose lips.” He denies involvement, though the Post reported that Sanchez said he was told that the Enquirer planned to do “a takedown to make Trump happy.”

The things some people will do to calm a crying baby, especially when that baby is Presidunce.

Whoever whispered down the lane—brothers, sisters, best friends or dirty tricksters—everybody knows that the heat is on when you hit “send.”

Creating Amazon from his garage (with MacKenzie’s help), purchasing the then-broke Washington Post, ready to fly the unfriendly skies with Blue Origin, Jeff Bezos prides himself on thinking ahead of the game. Something tells me that when Bezos hit “send” on those “private” sexts and pics, yes, even the dick pic(s), he knew full well that they could find their way into the public eye.

And (I think) that turned him on. It probably still turns him on, maybe even more than before. Sure, he’s very brave, smart and all that, but he’s also at least partly motivated by his personal exhibitionism. That’s something the AMI folks weren’t banking on. But I can just imagine the Bezos brain thinking, “So what if everybody and my mistress’ brother sees my dick? It’s a nice dick, and it could be awesome. After all, I wouldn’t be the one publishing it and (this part is critical) there are much loftier principles at stake than showing off.”

That’s just what I imagine. Here’s what Bezos actually wrote:

“Any personal embarrassment AMI could cause me takes a back seat because there’s a much more important matter involved here. If in my position I can’t stand up to this kind of extortion, how many people can?”

Indeed, Jeff of Bezos sounds as pure as Joan of Arc and strong as Richard the Lionhearted, and I must say, his timing is excellent: many feel that it’s about time somebody his own size (and larger) picked on Mr. Pecker, since he has blackmailed, extorted, harassed and intimidated many celebrities and others in their orbits with that tabloideria.

“Important matter” or not, exhibitionism also plays a vital role in this melodrama that just might have the juice to screw the Trump Crime Family. Physically, Jeff Bezos is the opposite of Donald Trump, a tall, rather wide man with a smallish pecker (not his National Enquirer friend, his toadstool peepee that Stormy described so disdainfully in Full Disclosure). Bezos is 5’7”, a couple inches under average, and rumored to have that big endowment which no one but MacKenzie (until now!) could legitimately see… and appreciate.

As a sex therapist, I know how frustrated many short men with large penises feel, because potential dates, mates and even “society” are constantly judging them by their height which is plain for all to see, yet they are not allowed to show their impressive member under penalty of total humiliation and possible incarceration.

It’s not just “short” men; most men are frustrated and warped by the forced imprisonment of their pride and joy. Some are driven to amass huge fortunes, build rocketships, drive big gas-guzzling cars, collect guns, join the military or even commit mass murder to prove their “manhood.” Society might be more sustainable if we just let these men show their dicks to somebody, even to the Village Square… with appropriate trigger warnings, of course.

Why is the erect penis so “forbidden” to see? There are many reasons, but I think it’s at least partly because men in power don’t like being reminded of their shortcomings… unless they’re aroused by cuckold humiliation, which more and more men find exciting, probably because so many big dicks are on display in porn.

I agree with Dan Savage that it would be great, really brave and very bonobo if Jeff Bezos would get way ahead of the game and just publish his own dick pic(s) “before the National Enquirer leaks it to TMZ” (also mentioning that the same day Bezos exposed Pecker, the LA Times revealed that “Amazon is stealing tips from delivery drivers,” and nobody cared.

If anybody somehow publishes Bezos’ dick pic and it’s as big as rumored (unlike Trump’s Inaugural), he can add “World’s Richest Porn Star” to his list of accomplishments.

Others want Bezos to sue the pants off Pecker. There are many billionaires on Uneasy Street, worrying about their illicit sexts and naked selfies, not to mention their financial crimes they might have spilled during sexting “pillow talk.” I don’t mind that so much; nobody should be burdened with so much money, including brave geniuses who like to show their dicks, and certainly not Puritanical billionaires like the Mercers and the Koch Brothers. Go Bonobos for AOC’s 70% tax rate on the highest earners, Bernie Sanders’ and Elizabeth Warren’s wealth tax on the super-wealthy—whether they “earn” their filthy lucre or not.

Sadly, sextortion is very common in the digital age, and not just perpetrated against billionaires. Often, it’s “revenge porn” on a very personal, low-income level, an ex-boyfriend threatening to show naked photos of the gal who dumped him. Or maybe an ex-girlfriend displays pix of the “tough” boyfriend who jilted her in stockings and sissypanties. But it’s also done by tabloids. So, who else has the National Enquirer blackmailed? The victims could probably start their own #MeToo movement.

Worthy cause that stopping blackmail is, I worry that Bezos winning a lawsuit against AMI will curtail free speech far beyond the National Enquirer, especially speech about sex. It’s already happening, thanks to SESTA/FOSTA, but this could make things even worse. So no, I’m not looking forward to a DeBecker vs. Pecker lawsuit. Getting Trump’s Pecker in a jam with Mueller’s office would be erotic entertainment enough, and it could be the realization of the Resistance fantasy that one billionaire’s brave, genius exhibitionism can save us from the Mad Tweeter.

Then again, wouldn’t it be cool if Bezos released Trump’s Pee Pee tape on Amazon Prime?

He’s certainly the world’s richest exhibitionist. He also might be the world’s smartest exhibitionist, having figured out how to make his (thus far) unseen dick pic into a cause célèbre of the Resistance and anyone whose privacy has been violated.

In case you’ve been under a rock or that “log” that Jeff B. so majestically “rolled over” to “see what crawls out,” here’s the salacious and inspiring story in a nut (yep, those nuts) shell: A few hours after the Amazon founder and his wife of 25 years, MacKenzie, officially announced that they were amicably divorcing, the National Enquirer published an “exposé” of Jeff’s affair with media personality, Lauren Sanchez (who looks remarkably like MacKenzie, but that’s another fetish). The tabloid mentioned that it also had some photos in its possession that were “too” explicit to publish, though it did rummage up the moral justification (something to do with Bezos’ “fitness” to be a multi-billionaire) to publish a number of private, passionate sexts, such as:

“I love you, alive girl. I will show you with my body, and my lips and my eyes, very soon”

“I want to smell you, I want to breathe you in. I want to hold you tight.… I want to kiss your lips…. I love you. I am in love with you…”

Reading these, I (like so many of my fellow Internet voyeurs) couldn’t help but laugh and share them with friends (as if we haven’t ardently and awkwardly sexted too), and yet, even then, I had to hand it to the world’s richest lovestruck horndog for feeling free enough to express his romantic passions with the woman he adores, which is very bonoboesque.

Nevertheless, I was pissed for MacKenzie, even though I, like most people, don’t know bananas about the Bezoses except for what they put out there in press releases and a scathing Amazon book review, plus what the snarky, sanctimonious tabloids choose to publish. It’s possible that the Bezoses had some level of “open” marriage and/or Mac has her own side dish (she certainly looks sexy enough, like a slimmer Lauren Sanchez!), or maybe they’d been on the outs since before all the sexting started. Of course, knowing I didn’t know didn’t stop me from joining in the social media mockery mob, crowing about my marriage being worth more than the Bezos’ 135 billion which he now has to split with MacKenzie, and making my own Bezos dick pic featuring a fairly large rubber dildo (rumor has it that the owner of the Washington Post is “well-endowed”) with a big helmet head, Bezos’ head.

I apologize for comparing JB’s skull to a glans penis, but people say Matthew Whitaker looks like a big thumb, and he actually used to market “masculine” toilet bowls for guys who think they have big dicks. So why not imagine Bezos’ happy, well-shined pate as the head of a happy cock?

Even now, after the media gossip has turned a major corner, I’d say the likeness is pretty apt.

The big difference is that my dick pic doesn’t have balls, and Mr. Bezos (as Mr. Pecker would very soon find out) most certainly has some.

“No Thank You, Mr. Pecker”

In the meantime, shortly after the release of the sexts, I, along with most of the world, forgot about Mr. Bezos and the two Peckers, aside from some of us wondering if the Amazon arrow could be an abstract rendering. But then, just in time for Valentine’s Day, gossip-fetishists of the world received a very special Amazon package, and no I don’t mean the dick pic (we wish!); I mean Bezos’ extraordinary open letter or blog, “No Thank You Mr. Pecker.”

In it, the man who founded Amazon and bought the Washington Post opens up about a personal problem he’s been having, suggesting that what happened to him could happen to anyone, or at least anyone who sexts dick pics (which, as a sex therapist, I can tell you, is a lot of people). Then Bezos lays out a story that fingers Mr. Pecker (I can’t help it; the puns write themselves), the National Enquirer and its parent company American Media (AMI), as well as the Trumpus himself, in a tale of blackmail, corruption and yes, sweet collusion with a foreign power, that’s a lot clearer to the non-FBI eye than that curdled decanter of Russian dressing.

Speaking of condiments, talk about getting your Pecker in a jam.

According to Bezos’ story, and the emails he claims to quote verbatim, Trump’s dear old friend David Pecker tried to blackmail Trump’s dear old enemy Jeff Bezos over his dick pic, most probably with the Tangerine Toadstool’s involvement. Trump couldn’t contain his glee about “Jeff Bozo’s” sexts being exposed in the National Enquirer, a more “accurate” publication than the “Amazon Washington Post” (Amazon doesn’t own WaPo; Bezos does, though he admits it’s a “complexifier”). Our Prez does wear his criminal heart on his sleeve, after all.

Back to the blackmail which sounds so cloak and dagger, but seriously, Chief Content Office Dylan Howard and Deputy General Counsel Jon Fine lay it all out there “in writing,” as Bezos can’t help but gloat. If you think it’s dumb for Bezos to sext his dick, how dumb is it to email the wealthiest dude in the world your blackmail threat to publish said dick in the National Enquirer unless he agrees to absolve the National Enquirer and AMI of any and all “political motivation”?

According to Bezos, after the Enquirer had published the sexts, his private securities-tzar-on-retainer, one Gavin de Becker, found that Mr. Pecker’s exposé does indeed seem to be “politically motivated” due to unfavorable coverage in the Washington Post of his good friend Donnie, aka David Dennison (in Stormy’s NDA, on which Pecker consulted), aka Mr. No Name (in Pecker’s own “catch and kill” with Trump’s Playmate paramour Karen McDougal) aka Individual 1 (in Michael Cohen’s flip that also fingers Mr. Pecker) aka Mr. President Donald J. Trump.

Pecker’s BS for MbS

De Becker vs. Pecker (the rhymes also write themselves) gets deeper with the security wrangler finding that the AMI publisher was also not happy with WaPo’s coverage of the assassination of one of their columnists, one Jamal Khashoggi, with all evidence pointing to another, newer “friend” of Mr. Pecker, one hip young murderous Saudi Crown Prince Mohammed bin Salman, aka MbS. Tellingly, AMI also published The New Kingdom, an absurdly pro-Saudi magazine that inundated supermarkets just before MbS’ March 2018 trip to the U.S. where he met with Trump, Oprah and other “dignitaries” who may not have known Khashoggi was on the Crown Prince’s hit list, but surely they knew of the Saudi-committed (with American-made weapons) atrocities in Yemen. Since The New Kingdom was clearly a puff piece for the Saudis (who were sent advance copies before publication), which would require AMI to register as a foreign agent; since they didn’t do that, AMI broke the law. Though Pecker’s deal with Mueller says “no new crimes,” and that particular crime was so last year.

AMI’s crime of blackmailing Bezos, however, is very much this year. Therefore, last Wednesday, Jon Fine (who used to work for Amazon!) demanded of de Becker’s lawyer Martin Singer (“Marty”) that Bezos and de Becker stop investigating Pecker(!) forthwith and declare that they “have no knowledge or basis for suggesting that AMI’s coverage was politically motivated or influenced by political forces”… or else dick pic and other private selfies will be released.

Last Thursday, Bezos published the whole damning thing, or at least the incriminatory emails, basically calling Pecker’s bluff and probably getting him into deep, stinky doo-doo with the Independent Counsel’s office.

Yes indeed, Trump loves to think of his narcissistic self as King Midas with everything he touches turning to gold, but really he’s King Shithole and everything—and everyone—he touches turns to shit… or falls in a shithole and gets covered with it… or shines a light on the illegal, gross, greedy, racist, sexist, noxious shit they’ve been doing for years just out of public scrutiny (here’s looking at you, Paul “The Coercive Cuckold” Manafort), so that now everybody can see what shitheads they are, and now a few of them are going to spend some of the shittiest years of their shit-spewing lives in the vast, multi-franchised system of shitholes known as the American Prison-Industrial Complex (PIC).

Life Lesson: If your last name is Pecker, don’t blackmail guys over dick pics.

“Bezos Exposes Pecker”

Once Bezos’ manifesto exploded like the cum shot heard round the world, from within the belly of the Internet (which he owns almost half of), he went from world’s richest whipping boy to world’s bravest superhero in a nanosecond.

The Huffington Post came up with the best headline, “Bezos Exposes Pecker” (kudos to Hufpo reporter Hayley Miller who wrote that headline on the subway right after Bezos released his masterpiece), which ,the New York Post promptly copied. But hey, what’s a little plagiarism when there’s juicy. sexual, political blackmail going down?

The Bezos Epistle came as if heaven-sent to the increasingly inspiration-starved Resistance, the same folks who had mocked the Amazon founder’s public disgrace a few weeks earlier, now praising him for his “courage” and “sheer genius.”

The Power of Exhibitionism

Going back to my original point, I’d just like to add “exhibitionist” to that list of florid descriptors.

A consensual exhibitionist, I’d surmise—or hope. I haven’t heard anything about Bezos flashing his pecker from his desk at unsuspecting victims who may or may not work for him, like some film directors and stand-up comics. Along with purple-prose sexting, his fetish is to take selfies of his near-naked body, with a particular focus on his erect “manhood” inside and out of his “tight black boxer briefs” or skimpy “towel.” It might sound kinky, but it’s a very popular fetish in these smartphone-addicted times, compounded by heightening fears of in-person flirting. Carefully the “bad” shots, he then sends his favorites discreetly to his mistress.

Discreetly? How could anyone involved in technology, let alone the King of Online Shopping, think that sexting or any kind of texting can be done discreetly? Technology or no technology, there’s a living, breathing, potentially indiscreet human being (at least one) on the receiving end of your “discreet” dick pic. Some say Linda Sanchez’ brother, Michael Sanchez, a PR exec close to Pecker, Roger Stone (oh no, not him again!) and Carter Page, might be the one with “loose lips.” He denies involvement, though the Post reported that Sanchez said he was told that the Enquirer planned to do “a takedown to make Trump happy.”

The things some people will do to calm a crying baby, especially when that baby is Presidunce.

Whoever whispered down the lane—brothers, sisters, best friends or dirty tricksters—everybody knows that the heat is on when you hit “send.”

Creating Amazon from his garage (with MacKenzie’s help), purchasing the then-broke Washington Post, ready to fly the unfriendly skies with Blue Origin, Jeff Bezos prides himself on thinking ahead of the game. Something tells me that when Bezos hit “send” on those “private” sexts and pics, yes, even the dick pic(s), he knew full well that they could find their way into the public eye.

And (I think) that turned him on. It probably still turns him on, maybe even more than before. Sure, he’s very brave, smart and all that, but he’s also at least partly motivated by his personal exhibitionism. That’s something the AMI folks weren’t banking on. But I can just imagine the Bezos brain thinking, “So what if everybody and my mistress’ brother sees my dick? It’s a nice dick, and it could be awesome. After all, I wouldn’t be the one publishing it and (this part is critical) there are much loftier principles at stake than showing off.”

That’s just what I imagine. Here’s what Bezos actually wrote:

“Any personal embarrassment AMI could cause me takes a back seat because there’s a much more important matter involved here. If in my position I can’t stand up to this kind of extortion, how many people can?”

Indeed, Jeff of Bezos sounds as pure as Joan of Arc and strong as Richard the Lionhearted, and I must say, his timing is excellent: many feel that it’s about time somebody his own size (and larger) picked on Mr. Pecker, since he has blackmailed, extorted, harassed and intimidated many celebrities and others in their orbits with that tabloideria.

“Important matter” or not, exhibitionism also plays a vital role in this melodrama that just might have the juice to screw the Trump Crime Family. Physically, Jeff Bezos is the opposite of Donald Trump, a tall, rather wide man with a smallish pecker (not his National Enquirer friend, his toadstool peepee that Stormy described so disdainfully in Full Disclosure). Bezos is 5’7”, a couple inches under average, and rumored to have that big endowment which no one but MacKenzie (until now!) could legitimately see… and appreciate.

As a sex therapist, I know how frustrated many short men with large penises feel, because potential dates, mates and even “society” are constantly judging them by their height which is plain for all to see, yet they are not allowed to show their impressive member under penalty of total humiliation and possible incarceration.

It’s not just “short” men; most men are frustrated and warped by the forced imprisonment of their pride and joy. Some are driven to amass huge fortunes, build rocketships, drive big gas-guzzling cars, collect guns, join the military or even commit mass murder to prove their “manhood.” Society might be more sustainable if we just let these men show their dicks to somebody, even to the Village Square… with appropriate trigger warnings, of course.

Why is the erect penis so “forbidden” to see? There are many reasons, but I think it’s at least partly because men in power don’t like being reminded of their shortcomings… unless they’re aroused by cuckold humiliation, which more and more men find exciting, probably because so many big dicks are on display in porn.

I agree with Dan Savage that it would be great, really brave and very bonobo if Jeff Bezos would get way ahead of the game and just publish his own dick pic(s) “before the National Enquirer leaks it to TMZ” (also mentioning that the same day Bezos exposed Pecker, the LA Times revealed that “Amazon is stealing tips from delivery drivers,” and nobody cared.

If anybody somehow publishes Bezos’ dick pic and it’s as big as rumored (unlike Trump’s Inaugural), he can add “World’s Richest Porn Star” to his list of accomplishments.

Others want Bezos to sue the pants off Pecker. There are many billionaires on Uneasy Street, worrying about their illicit sexts and naked selfies, not to mention their financial crimes they might have spilled during sexting “pillow talk.” I don’t mind that so much; nobody should be burdened with so much money, including brave geniuses who like to show their dicks, and certainly not Puritanical billionaires like the Mercers and the Koch Brothers. Go Bonobos for AOC’s 70% tax rate on the highest earners, Bernie Sanders’ and Elizabeth Warren’s wealth tax on the super-wealthy—whether they “earn” their filthy lucre or not.

Sadly, sextortion is very common in the digital age, and not just perpetrated against billionaires. Often, it’s “revenge porn” on a very personal, low-income level, an ex-boyfriend threatening to show naked photos of the gal who dumped him. Or maybe an ex-girlfriend displays pix of the “tough” boyfriend who jilted her in stockings and sissypanties. But it’s also done by tabloids. So, who else has the National Enquirer blackmailed? The victims could probably start their own #MeToo movement.

Worthy cause that stopping blackmail is, I worry that Bezos winning a lawsuit against AMI will curtail free speech far beyond the National Enquirer, especially speech about sex. It’s already happening, thanks to SESTA/FOSTA, but this could make things even worse. So no, I’m not looking forward to a DeBecker vs. Pecker lawsuit. Getting Trump’s Pecker in a jam with Mueller’s office would be erotic entertainment enough, and it could be the realization of the Resistance fantasy that one billionaire’s brave, genius exhibitionism can save us from the Mad Tweeter.

Then again, wouldn’t it be cool if Bezos released Trump’s Pee Pee tape on Amazon Prime?

Valentine’s Day is coming… Ah V-Day, the High Holiday of Love; charged with mixed emotions for many of us (me too!) and (unless you’re Miley and Liam) especially tough to navigate in this politically divisive, sexually suspicious, hyper-commercialized, economically unfair, disturbingly climate-changing and emotionally exhausting moment in human history.

Amen and AWOMEN. Praise be to the power and glory of St. Valentine (who probably was nothing but “fake news” from the early Church, but that’s a story for Lupercalia).

Photo 1: Jobe. Photos 2, 3, 4: Jux Lii. Photo 3: Alan

First, we consider the meaning of Valentine’s Day. Sure, it’s all about LoVE, but what doesn’t that mean to you? For some, that means SEX. For others, it’s all about the chocolate. Which do you prefer: Hersey’s kisses or her kisses? Reverse Cowgirlor tiramisu? Why not mix them up and enjoy Valentine SPLOSH for lovers?

Which Valentine’s Day treat do you prefer: Sex or Chocolate… or Splosh?

Eric’s partner Lexi, who met him on the day before V-Day last year, just a month before their first award-winning appearance together on DrSuzy.Tv in Orgy Erotique with D.A.D. Politiques, also won a 2018 SUZY for “Best Ivanka Lookalike.” They look like twins, though Lexi is prettier, much sexier and more natural than Ivanka—no plastic surgery for our Ms. Lore, though she does look adorable in her braces. This sparks a lively sapiosexual conversation about incest fantasies.

PHOTOS: JUX LII

I’m tempted to ask Eric to don the Trump mask for his sexual encounter with Lexi, but I don’t want to ruin the mood.

Instead, I just insert a little splosh in their award-winning sex. They start with a kiss—consuming a Valentine heart-shaped strawberry that I place between their lips as they make out. Splosh kissing!

Then I ask Eric if he likes chocolate, to which he replies, “Yeah, but I’m vegan.”

RawkStar Chef Be*Liveto the rescue! One of the pioneers of the California raw foods movement, Be*Live brings out a squeeze bottle of delicious raw vegan chocolate sauce, which I proceed to squirt on Lexi’s freshly pedicured toes, and Eric dutifully—or hungrily—licks it all up.

Eric gobbles up Lexi’s vegan sploshed pussy and puts a smile on her face. Photo: Alan

I squirt some on Lexi’s pretty pussy—completely shaved so it’s a perfect “plate” for the chocolate—which Eric also licks up—after which I squirt some chocolate on his large porn star cock now hard as a rock which Lexi (who’s also vegan) licks up (see the XXX-rated pix in Forbidden Photos). Then I squirt some of Be*Live’s white sauce on the tip, and it looks like he just shot out big creamy load.

In the second part of the show, we minimize the sploshing and maximize the sex.

Hot Hot Hot!

Eric John is still the Man! And check out Lexi Lore’s perfectly pointed ballet toes. Photo: Jux Lii

Eric and Lexi fuck (there’s no other word for it) as hot and hard as they did a year ago, with a little vegan splosh to make things tasty.

No, Lexie’s not a vampire. She just slurped up some of RawkStar Be*Live’s vegan raspberrry splosh sauce. Photo: Alan

But this time, Eric gives us a grand ejaculatory climax all over Lexi’s pretty titties.

He even releases with a special new technique of his, tapping the head of his cock so the ejaculate comes out in white raindrops.

Mother Tinkis here with that adorable fluff ball, Fizzgig the Party Pup, winners of the 2018 SUZY Award for “Best Dog & Mistress Act.” I’ve always wondered why Tink calls herself “Mother”; with her petite, svelte build, she certainly doesn’t look very motherly. I found out when I was a bit breathless (yep, still having those respiratory issues) and, solicitous as my own mom would be, she gave me her personal Ventolin (apparently, she also has respiratory issues, like countless other humans, thanks to the effects of calamitous climate change, especially the California wildfires), just so I could breathe easier. Thanks Mama!

Gorgeous leggy erotic entertainer Honey Dior is back, wearing a coat as furry as Fizzgig and not much else. She graces the Womb Room with a short striptease to the tune of The Kinkster by Mark Will of [ai] aka Carmina Formosa (inspired by Bonobo Way).

Sultry Honey Dior stripteases to The Kinkster. Photo: Alan

Very short… revealing her lovely natural boobs for a just few sultry moments.

Our only guest who’s never been here before, Morgan Barbor, aerialist, acrobat and “movement director,” though on this show, she doesn’t want to move.

When my bubbly assistant Blossom Green suggests she do a handstand, Morgan giggles teasingly and explains “I’m too drunk.” And we didn’t even do a Bonoboville Communion on this show! Though we do have our famously friendly Speakeasy open bar.

Blossom spots Morgan’s inebriated backbend. Photo: Jux Lii

Blossom coaxes Morgan into gamely trying to do a backbend, with Blossom “spotting,” aka holding her up. Thinking about how our Womb Room virgin has just confessed her drunkenness, I worry that she might throw up, and that’s not the kind of splosh we were looking for. Fortunately, though the backbend is certainly not her best, at least Morgan doesn’t upchuck while she’s upside down. And she kicks her high-heeled foot out quite gracefully for a self-proclaimed “drunk.”

Later (or actually it’s before), for reasons that you can decipher if you watch the show free on http://DrSuzy.Tv, I give Blossom’s bottom a short but good whipping with Goddess Phoenix’s fiber optic whip.

Something put a smile on Blossom’s adorable face. Photo: Jobe

I’m not sure how effective a disciplinary tactic it is, but it certainly is erotic (though not explicit) entertainment.

Speaking of Amazon and the NY Post: “Bezos Exposes Pecker” is the Post’s perfect headline to the story of Amazon founder Jeff Bezos’ bombshell blog about National Enquirer and parent company AMI CEO David Pecker attempting to blackmail him—in writing!—threatening to release private sexy selfies he sent to his mistress Lauren Sanchez, including a dick pic(!)—unless he tells “his” reporters at the Washington Post (he owns the Post, but theoretically he doesn’t tell the staff what they can or can’t write about) to stop investigating AMI’s “political motivations” for publishing Bezos’ private and rather passionate sexts to Ms. Sanchez. Essentially, by publishing the blackmail emails that lay it all out, Bezos called their bluff.

Many in the Resistance now call the richest man in the world (soon to lose that title in his impending divorce to wife Mackenzie) a “genius” and “courageous” for posting the damning evidence of extortion for all to see. I wouldn’t disagree, but I would add to those descriptors, “exhibitionist,” and I mean that in the best sense. Certainly since the advent of Wikileaks, any sexting tech nerd (and Bezos is the world’s biggest tech mogul) knows his “private” sexts can easily be exposed to the public. My hunch is that though Bezos might be a bit embarrassed, he wouldn’t mind too much if the world saw his dick, of which he appears to be rather proud. Rumor is that it’s Eric John-sized, so if it is somehow released, Bezos can add “World’s Richest Porn Star” to his list of accomplishments.

As for Mr. Pecker and his dear old friend Donald Trump (who may have “colluded” on this hare-brained scheme, certainly gloating over the exposure of his nemesis, Jeff “Bozo”), they both may wind up behind bars for this, though who knows in today’s political climate.

Telling the story of Bezos Exposing Trump’s Pecker as I gag the Trumpus with my Bezos dildo. Photo: Jobe

I’m worried that a Bezos lawsuit will not only put Pecker out business (obviously a good thing), but will have a chilling effect on sexual free speech. Also nobody should have as much money as Bezos, so I’m happy, at least, to see MacKenzie get half.

Back to the grand Sploshing of acclaimed actress in Django Unchained and Weeds,Danièle Watts, who removes her golden cape by our Valentine tree (see above). Yep, it’s our Xmas tree with hearts winding around it, decorated by Blossom), and lets Be*Live splosh her chest first with six different vibrant colors and delicious flavors of pure vegan sploshing sauces.

Vegan Splosh Faux Ejaculation is almost as fun as the real thing! Photo: Jux Lii

Thus, partially sploshing and dripping, she makes her “entrance” onto the Womb Room stage (see above) where she sits on the official “sploshing chair” and both Be*Live and I splosh away all over her breasts, arms back, curly afro, in her eyes (oops, sorry!) and in her mouth.

I lick her shoulders and Be*Lives licks up her chest as some of our audience smiles and cheers while other look on in mildly shocked horror.

Daniele gets her hair “done” in the Began Vegan Splosh Salon. Photo: Jobe

He sings his signature rap and the Song of Bonoboville, “She Bad” as Danièle and Be*Live dance naked and sploshed, like mud people, and the rest of us shake our bootie a good distance from their dripping bodies.

Sexy Milf Brigitte recently celebrated a birthday (no, I didn’t ask her age), so I give that cute bootie a much deserved birthday spanking first with my neon flogger, then skirt-up, pantyhose-down and over-the-knee (OTK) by hand and with a copy of the SPEAKEASY Journal: Splosh ‘n’ Art edition.

Get it for your Valentine, even if it’s not Valentine’s Day, especially if they like food and sex… and love.

Happy World Bonobo Day!

What about the big V-Day itself? What if you’re a neat freak and just the idea of splosh makes you nauseous? Don’t panic! Whether you’re married, single, in a couple, a trouple, a quadruple, a commune or a convent, you can honor LOVE with the world’s greatest lovers and officially Go Bonobos on Valentine’s Day because Valentine’s Day is now World Bonobo Day! If any nonhuman animal embodies the spirit of Valentine love, it’s the bonobo. Gain Valentine inspiration to release your “inner bonobo” to live in more loving ways from the source: the amazing LOVE APES of the rainforest, where every day is Valentine’s Day, and nights are filled with love.

Our closest genetic cousins, bonobos are also the “peace apes.” Having never been seen killing each other in the wild or captivity, they show us that peace through pleasure is possible for apes like us. Here in our bonobo-inspired human “Bonoboville,” we’re delighted to support “World Bonobo Day,” conceived by The Bonobo Project, winner of the 2018 SUZY award for “Best Bonobo Promotion” and creators of the phrase “I Bonobo You (I love you).

World Bonobo Day was officially recognized in House Resolution 738 by Congressman Scott Peters (D- San Diego), “resolved that the United States House of Representatives, encourages everyone to participate in activities that help to educate the public about the need to protect these uniquely matriarchal, loving and endangered great apes.”

Bonobos love to combine food and sex – which is a kind of splosh! Photo: Jux Lii

Three cheers and a bonobo beer for Ashley Judd, who has “come out” in support of the bonobos as a paradigm for female empowerment. Of course, I’ve been saying that bonobos are the “Most Femdom Apes on Earth” since the 1990s (though I called it “matriarchal” then), but I also pointed out that they have the highest levels of male well-being and they make peace through pleasure, aka sex.

Speaking of bonobo beer, there will be “bonobo brew” at the Blind Lady Ale House in San Diego, Thursday evening, February 14th, where Bonobo Projects friends and lovers will celebrate World Bonobo Day. There will also be a silent auction and giveaway gift baskets filled with bonobo-oriented goodies, including signed copies of The Bonobo Way. All proceeds go to The Bonobo Project.

If you can’t make it to the Blind Lady, here’s a V-Day/World Bonobo Day gift idea: Donate what you can to help save the bonobos in your lover’s name and give them the receipt inside a traditional Valentine card. Give to the Bonobo Project or to one of our two favorite bonobo conservation organizations, Lola ya Bonobo and Bonobo Conservation Initiative (BCI), actively helping to save the wild bonobos from extinction with “boots on the ground” of the world’s second largest rainforest in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).

As I’ve said before, V-Day is so “me-me-me” or “we-we-we”; sometimes the pressure on being your “best self,” your sexiest self or even your most loving self (or on the other hand, getting exactly what you-you-you want for Valentine’s Day), just backfires and ruins the whole holiday, turning February 15th into a Day-After-Valentine’s Day Massacre, sometimes resulting in real bloody tragedy, though mostly the damage is to our feelings.

So why not avoid focusing on yourself and your relationship, or lack thereof, and focus instead on the new Valentine’s Day ambassadors, the Make Love Not War bonobo chimpanzees who swing through the trees as well as with each other? See them at the San Diego Zoo, read about them or watch a video, and donate (if you don’t have a Valentine, just “be your own Valentine” and do it in your own damn name) what you can to help save the highly endangered bonobos from extinction.

Gift Idea 2: Give The Bonobo Way this Valentine’s Day to friends, lovers and your friends’ lovers. Spread the Bonobo Word of Love from the Love Apes. Get What You Want While Giving! It’s The Bonobo Way. The Bonobo Way is the ultimate antidote to the fear and hatred that is driving us apart. Give it to someone you love, even if that someone is you.

I love Lupercalia, which never involves the pressure of V-Day, just all the pleasure of the greatest party of the year featuring one of the “greatest stories ever told” (no, not about Jesus; about Romulus and Remus!) that sometimes turns into an orgy, at least a spanking orgy.

We’ll also launch our second edition of Dr. Susan Block’s SPEAKEASY Journal: SPANK ‘n’ Art, though we’ll only have proof copies, since Bezos’ Amazon told us we needed everybody’s releases at the last minute, and we finally gathered them together, but now it’ll take a few days. But the proofs are cool collectors’ items!

Ikkor the Wolf is howling for Lupercalia and Putin (yes that’s Daniele!) is dancing up a Stormy Danièle at Lupercalia 2018. Photo: Jux Lii

RSVP: Call 310-568-0055

Happy Valentines

The post-show party is mellow which suits my respiratory-challenged style. 90 minutes of sex, splosh, spanking and carousing on the show is enough, so I just chill with the rawkstars post-show.

Of course, your Valentine Challenge is up to you. You might want to do something totally different or nothing at all, and that’s totally fine.

Free the Nipple! Photo: Abe Bonobo

As for me and my beloved Valentine of 28 years (married 26), my Captain Max, whisks me up to the Captain’s Quarters where we engage in some pretty great Valentine sex—no, not as athletic as the porn stars and not as dramatic as the sploshing stars. In fact, we take it nice and easy, not too challenging, but then lo and behold it explodes into orgasm (did you know an orgasm really clears your sinuses—for a few minutes?), and overflows with heart.

Valentine’s Day is coming… Ah V-Day, the High Holiday of Love; charged with mixed emotions for many of us (me too!) and (unless you’re Miley and Liam) especially tough to navigate in this politically divisive, sexually suspicious, hyper-commercialized, economically unfair, disturbingly climate-changing and emotionally exhausting moment in human history.

Amen and AWOMEN. Praise be to the power and glory of St. Valentine (who probably was nothing but “fake news” from the early Church, but that’s a story for Lupercalia).

Photo 1: Jobe. Photos 2, 3, 4: Jux Lii. Photo 3: Alan

First, we consider the meaning of Valentine’s Day. Sure, it’s all about LoVE, but what doesn’t that mean to you? For some, that means SEX. For others, it’s all about the chocolate. Which do you prefer: Hersey’s kisses or her kisses? Reverse Cowgirlor tiramisu? Why not mix them up and enjoy Valentine SPLOSH for lovers?

Which Valentine’s Day treat do you prefer: Sex or Chocolate… or Splosh?

Eric’s partner Lexi, who met him on the day before V-Day last year, just a month before their first award-winning appearance together on DrSuzy.Tv in Orgy Erotique with D.A.D. Politiques, also won a 2018 SUZY for “Best Ivanka Lookalike.” They look like twins, though Lexi is prettier, much sexier and more natural than Ivanka—no plastic surgery for our Ms. Lore, though she does look adorable in her braces. This sparks a lively sapiosexual conversation about incest fantasies.

PHOTOS: JUX LII

I’m tempted to ask Eric to don the Trump mask for his sexual encounter with Lexi, but I don’t want to ruin the mood.

Instead, I just insert a little splosh in their award-winning sex. They start with a kiss—consuming a Valentine heart-shaped strawberry that I place between their lips as they make out. Splosh kissing!

Then I ask Eric if he likes chocolate, to which he replies, “Yeah, but I’m vegan.”

RawkStar Chef Be*Liveto the rescue! One of the pioneers of the California raw foods movement, Be*Live brings out a squeeze bottle of delicious raw vegan chocolate sauce, which I proceed to squirt on Lexi’s freshly pedicured toes, and Eric dutifully—or hungrily—licks it all up.

Eric gobbles up Lexi’s vegan sploshed pussy and puts a smile on her face. Photo: Alan

I squirt some on Lexi’s pretty pussy—completely shaved so it’s a perfect “plate” for the chocolate—which Eric also licks up—after which I squirt some chocolate on his large porn star cock now hard as a rock which Lexi (who’s also vegan) licks up (see the XXX-rated pix in Forbidden Photos). Then I squirt some of Be*Live’s white sauce on the tip, and it looks like he just shot out big creamy load.

In the second part of the show, we minimize the sploshing and maximize the sex.

Hot Hot Hot!

Eric John is still the Man! And check out Lexi Lore’s perfectly pointed ballet toes. Photo: Jux Lii

Eric and Lexi fuck (there’s no other word for it) as hot and hard as they did a year ago, with a little vegan splosh to make things tasty.

No, Lexie’s not a vampire. She just slurped up some of RawkStar Be*Live’s vegan raspberrry splosh sauce. Photo: Alan

But this time, Eric gives us a grand ejaculatory climax all over Lexi’s pretty titties.

He even releases with a special new technique of his, tapping the head of his cock so the ejaculate comes out in white raindrops.

Mother Tinkis here with that adorable fluff ball, Fizzgig the Party Pup, winners of the 2018 SUZY Award for “Best Dog & Mistress Act.” I’ve always wondered why Tink calls herself “Mother”; with her petite, svelte build, she certainly doesn’t look very motherly. I found out when I was a bit breathless (yep, still having those respiratory issues) and, solicitous as my own mom would be, she gave me her personal Ventolin (apparently, she also has respiratory issues, like countless other humans, thanks to the effects of calamitous climate change, especially the California wildfires), just so I could breathe easier. Thanks Mama!

Gorgeous leggy erotic entertainer Honey Dior is back, wearing a coat as furry as Fizzgig and not much else. She graces the Womb Room with a short striptease to the tune of The Kinkster by Mark Will of [ai] aka Carmina Formosa (inspired by Bonobo Way).

Sultry Honey Dior stripteases to The Kinkster. Photo: Alan

Very short… revealing her lovely natural boobs for a just few sultry moments.

Our only guest who’s never been here before, Morgan Barbor, aerialist, acrobat and “movement director,” though on this show, she doesn’t want to move.

When my bubbly assistant Blossom Green suggests she do a handstand, Morgan giggles teasingly and explains “I’m too drunk.” And we didn’t even do a Bonoboville Communion on this show! Though we do have our famously friendly Speakeasy open bar.

Blossom spots Morgan’s inebriated backbend. Photo: Jux Lii

Blossom coaxes Morgan into gamely trying to do a backbend, with Blossom “spotting,” aka holding her up. Thinking about how our Womb Room virgin has just confessed her drunkenness, I worry that she might throw up, and that’s not the kind of splosh we were looking for. Fortunately, though the backbend is certainly not her best, at least Morgan doesn’t upchuck while she’s upside down. And she kicks her high-heeled foot out quite gracefully for a self-proclaimed “drunk.”

Later (or actually it’s before), for reasons that you can decipher if you watch the show free on http://DrSuzy.Tv, I give Blossom’s bottom a short but good whipping with Goddess Phoenix’s fiber optic whip.

Something put a smile on Blossom’s adorable face. Photo: Jobe

I’m not sure how effective a disciplinary tactic it is, but it certainly is erotic (though not explicit) entertainment.

Speaking of Amazon and the NY Post: “Bezos Exposes Pecker” is the Post’s perfect headline to the story of Amazon founder Jeff Bezos’ bombshell blog about National Enquirer and parent company AMI CEO David Pecker attempting to blackmail him—in writing!—threatening to release private sexy selfies he sent to his mistress Lauren Sanchez, including a dick pic(!)—unless he tells “his” reporters at the Washington Post (he owns the Post, but theoretically he doesn’t tell the staff what they can or can’t write about) to stop investigating AMI’s “political motivations” for publishing Bezos’ private and rather passionate sexts to Ms. Sanchez. Essentially, by publishing the blackmail emails that lay it all out, Bezos called their bluff.

Many in the Resistance now call the richest man in the world (soon to lose that title in his impending divorce to wife Mackenzie) a “genius” and “courageous” for posting the damning evidence of extortion for all to see. I wouldn’t disagree, but I would add to those descriptors, “exhibitionist,” and I mean that in the best sense. Certainly since the advent of Wikileaks, any sexting tech nerd (and Bezos is the world’s biggest tech mogul) knows his “private” sexts can easily be exposed to the public. My hunch is that though Bezos might be a bit embarrassed, he wouldn’t mind too much if the world saw his dick, of which he appears to be rather proud. Rumor is that it’s Eric John-sized, so if it is somehow released, Bezos can add “World’s Richest Porn Star” to his list of accomplishments.

As for Mr. Pecker and his dear old friend Donald Trump (who may have “colluded” on this hare-brained scheme, certainly gloating over the exposure of his nemesis, Jeff “Bozo”), they both may wind up behind bars for this, though who knows in today’s political climate.

Telling the story of Bezos Exposing Trump’s Pecker as I gag the Trumpus with my Bezos dildo. Photo: Jobe

I’m worried that a Bezos lawsuit will not only put Pecker out business (obviously a good thing), but will have a chilling effect on sexual free speech. Also nobody should have as much money as Bezos, so I’m happy, at least, to see MacKenzie get half.

Back to the grand Sploshing of acclaimed actress in Django Unchained and Weeds,Danièle Watts, who removes her golden cape by our Valentine tree (see above). Yep, it’s our Xmas tree with hearts winding around it, decorated by Blossom), and lets Be*Live splosh her chest first with six different vibrant colors and delicious flavors of pure vegan sploshing sauces.

Vegan Splosh Faux Ejaculation is almost as fun as the real thing! Photo: Jux Lii

Thus, partially sploshing and dripping, she makes her “entrance” onto the Womb Room stage (see above) where she sits on the official “sploshing chair” and both Be*Live and I splosh away all over her breasts, arms back, curly afro, in her eyes (oops, sorry!) and in her mouth.

I lick her shoulders and Be*Lives licks up her chest as some of our audience smiles and cheers while other look on in mildly shocked horror.

Daniele gets her hair “done” in the Began Vegan Splosh Salon. Photo: Jobe

He sings his signature rap and the Song of Bonoboville, “She Bad” as Danièle and Be*Live dance naked and sploshed, like mud people, and the rest of us shake our bootie a good distance from their dripping bodies.

Sexy Milf Brigitte recently celebrated a birthday (no, I didn’t ask her age), so I give that cute bootie a much deserved birthday spanking first with my neon flogger, then skirt-up, pantyhose-down and over-the-knee (OTK) by hand and with a copy of the SPEAKEASY Journal: Splosh ‘n’ Art edition.

Get it for your Valentine, even if it’s not Valentine’s Day, especially if they like food and sex… and love.

Happy World Bonobo Day!

What about the big V-Day itself? What if you’re a neat freak and just the idea of splosh makes you nauseous? Don’t panic! Whether you’re married, single, in a couple, a trouple, a quadruple, a commune or a convent, you can honor LOVE with the world’s greatest lovers and officially Go Bonobos on Valentine’s Day because Valentine’s Day is now World Bonobo Day! If any nonhuman animal embodies the spirit of Valentine love, it’s the bonobo. Gain Valentine inspiration to release your “inner bonobo” to live in more loving ways from the source: the amazing LOVE APES of the rainforest, where every day is Valentine’s Day, and nights are filled with love.

Our closest genetic cousins, bonobos are also the “peace apes.” Having never been seen killing each other in the wild or captivity, they show us that peace through pleasure is possible for apes like us. Here in our bonobo-inspired human “Bonoboville,” we’re delighted to support “World Bonobo Day,” conceived by The Bonobo Project, winner of the 2018 SUZY award for “Best Bonobo Promotion” and creators of the phrase “I Bonobo You (I love you).

World Bonobo Day was officially recognized in House Resolution 738 by Congressman Scott Peters (D- San Diego), “resolved that the United States House of Representatives, encourages everyone to participate in activities that help to educate the public about the need to protect these uniquely matriarchal, loving and endangered great apes.”

Bonobos love to combine food and sex – which is a kind of splosh! Photo: Jux Lii

Three cheers and a bonobo beer for Ashley Judd, who has “come out” in support of the bonobos as a paradigm for female empowerment. Of course, I’ve been saying that bonobos are the “Most Femdom Apes on Earth” since the 1990s (though I called it “matriarchal” then), but I also pointed out that they have the highest levels of male well-being and they make peace through pleasure, aka sex.

Speaking of bonobo beer, there will be “bonobo brew” at the Blind Lady Ale House in San Diego, Thursday evening, February 14th, where Bonobo Projects friends and lovers will celebrate World Bonobo Day. There will also be a silent auction and giveaway gift baskets filled with bonobo-oriented goodies, including signed copies of The Bonobo Way. All proceeds go to The Bonobo Project.

If you can’t make it to the Blind Lady, here’s a V-Day/World Bonobo Day gift idea: Donate what you can to help save the bonobos in your lover’s name and give them the receipt inside a traditional Valentine card. Give to the Bonobo Project or to one of our two favorite bonobo conservation organizations, Lola ya Bonobo and Bonobo Conservation Initiative (BCI), actively helping to save the wild bonobos from extinction with “boots on the ground” of the world’s second largest rainforest in the Democratic Republic of Congo (DRC).

As I’ve said before, V-Day is so “me-me-me” or “we-we-we”; sometimes the pressure on being your “best self,” your sexiest self or even your most loving self (or on the other hand, getting exactly what you-you-you want for Valentine’s Day), just backfires and ruins the whole holiday, turning February 15th into a Day-After-Valentine’s Day Massacre, sometimes resulting in real bloody tragedy, though mostly the damage is to our feelings.

So why not avoid focusing on yourself and your relationship, or lack thereof, and focus instead on the new Valentine’s Day ambassadors, the Make Love Not War bonobo chimpanzees who swing through the trees as well as with each other? See them at the San Diego Zoo, read about them or watch a video, and donate (if you don’t have a Valentine, just “be your own Valentine” and do it in your own damn name) what you can to help save the highly endangered bonobos from extinction.

Gift Idea 2: Give The Bonobo Way this Valentine’s Day to friends, lovers and your friends’ lovers. Spread the Bonobo Word of Love from the Love Apes. Get What You Want While Giving! It’s The Bonobo Way. The Bonobo Way is the ultimate antidote to the fear and hatred that is driving us apart. Give it to someone you love, even if that someone is you.

I love Lupercalia, which never involves the pressure of V-Day, just all the pleasure of the greatest party of the year featuring one of the “greatest stories ever told” (no, not about Jesus; about Romulus and Remus!) that sometimes turns into an orgy, at least a spanking orgy.